


we are buried in broken dreams

by annabeth_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, S8 rewrite, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes
Summary: Prompt: Sansa and Jon sleeping together before he goes to Dragonstone and when he comes back he finds out she is pregnant.A full on s8 fix-it fic at this point.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Bran gets to Winterfell before Jon leaves for Dragonstone. 2) Boat bang doesn’t happen. (3) Jon is a little off at the beginning here but he’s having an identity crisis so let’s give the guy a little break.
> 
> Title: The Other Side by Ruelle

With all of the exhaustion that she felt, and the burdens that weighed her down, Sansa couldn’t bring herself to feel even the slightest bit annoyed when a soft knock came upon her door in the dead of night. She wasn’t sleeping. She hadn’t even changed out of the day’s dress, too busy hunched over old scrolls and books that Maester Luwin collected. Anything that might help them get through winter. She crossed the room, unlatching her door and praying silently that Baelish wouldn’t be standing on the other side. Sansa was much too tired to face him. It was difficult enough, keeping a tight hold on her tongue. Pretending as if nothing had changed when everything had changed. Bran was alive. He returned to Winterfell at last, yet he was nothing like the brother that she remembered. And he had a secret to share. A dangerous secret.

Jon was not their brother after all.

In light of that, Sansa was only slightly surprised to see her now-cousin standing on the other side of the door, his face half-hidden in darkness yet weariness etched upon what she could see. He had sequestered himself away in his chambers in the aftermath of Bran’s revelation. Sansa couldn’t blame him for it. She had no idea how it felt. Her world had been rocked well enough and she wasn’t even the one who had to reevaluate everything that she knew. A part of her felt relieved that he was there, if only for the sake of how little time they had left.

He would leave for Dragonstone the next day and they would not be able to speak of any of this again until he returned. If he returned. Sansa hated thinking that way but she had to prepare herself for the worst and be surprised if it did not happen. She stepped aside wordlessly, giving him space to enter. Jon did so slowly, as if he was almost reluctant to be there. Sansa couldn’t fault him for that either, knowing that it was difficult for him. These were her mother’s chambers as much as her father’s. One spurned him and the other lied to him. She could only imagine whose memory pained him more in that moment.

“Do you want wine?” Sansa asked once she latched the door once more.

“No,” Jon said quietly.

She turned to face him hesitantly only to see him standing at the window, staring out at the courtyard. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair out of sorts. Moonlight illuminated his face, allowing her to see more of it now that he was out of the dim corridor. Sansa stared at him, wondering if there was any trace of Rhaegar Targaryen there or if the wolf blood had washed away any trace of dragon within him.

“He was going to tell me,” Jon said, his voice hoarse.

Sansa flinched at the sound, darting her eyes away as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have.

“He told me, before I went north and you went south. He said that he would tell me about my mother the next time we saw each other.”

She let his words sink in before sighing, moving away from the door without knowing where she intended to go.

“And you never saw him again,” Sansa said, feeling a swell of sympathy and guilt.

Jon closed his eyes, dropping his head with a heavy sigh.

“Why couldn’t he just tell me from the beginning?” he said, his voice rising with anger. “I had a right to know!”

Sansa’s feet carried her to his side and she laid her hand on his shoulder, her heart aching for him.

“You did,” she said soothingly as she reached up to cup his cheek with her other hand, turning his face towards her. “And I know that it may not comfort you but we both know that Father did it to protect you.”

Jon stared at her with an anguished look in his eyes.

“I used to dream that my mother was alive,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That I would find her one day.”

Sansa pressed her lips together, tears pricking at her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, gathering him in her arms.

He clung to her, burying his face in her hair. Sansa could feel him trembling with all of the emotion that he held inside. As much as she wished he would release it all, she knew that she had no right to ask it of him. Not when he was grieving for a life he never had and a mother he would never know. Turning her head, she pressed a kiss to his tear-stained cheek, tasting salt on her lips as she pulled away.

“No one has to know,” Sansa said, looking deep into his eyes. “You can still be one of us.”

Jon gazed back at her, the tormented look fading as a slow, molten heat took its place. Sansa shivered at the sight of it, something strange unfurling in her chest. Her skin tingled as something shifted in the air.

“I’m not,” Jon said, his voice low.

Her lips parted in confusion, her eyes darting over his face as she tried to figure out what he meant by that.

“I’m not a Stark,” he said, lifting his hand to brush his thumb over her cheek. “I’m not a Targaryen.”

Sansa’s stomach twisted with anticipation, though she couldn’t figure out what it was she sensed would happen.

“Jon...” she breathed, her heart picking up pace in her chest.

“I’m no one,” he said, the words nearly coming out as a growl.

“You’re not,” Sansa told him, shaking her head. “Not to me.”

Jon stepped in closer to her, the heat of his body seeping into hers.

“What am I to you, then?”

His thumb moved lower, brushing the corner of her mouth before stroking up her jaw. Sansa felt as if he was stealing the breath from her lungs, inhaling sharply as his other hand clasped around her hip through her woolen dress.

“You-” she cut off, watching as his eyes dipped to her lips before meeting hers again. “You’re Jon.”

Sansa couldn’t think of what else to say. To her, it was simple enough. That was all that mattered. He was Jon.

“I couldn’t do this if I was your brother,” Jon said, brushing a loose lock of hair away from her face. “I shouldn’t even be doing it now, should I?”

She leaned her face into his touch, her body craving something that she didn’t understand. Sansa couldn’t even remember the last time someone did this. Plenty of men had touched her yet none of them had this level of tenderness and affection. They all wanted something from her. They wanted to pretend that she was something she wasn’t.

With Jon, it seemed like he was touching her simply because she allowed it. Because she was letting him. There was an awareness in his gaze. Like he knew that it’s what she wanted, even if she hadn’t voiced it, and he would stop the moment she decided she didn’t want it anymore. It felt powerful. It felt heartbreakingly new. She didn’t want to lose it. She didn’t want to lose him.

“Don’t go,” Sansa whispered.

Jon grew still, his eyes growing distant from her. Sansa inwardly cursed herself, knowing what he heard in her words. A plea that she’d kept to herself, so close to her heart that no one would see. Not even Baelish could know, nor would he. Despite the words that he spoke to her so long ago, when she was still trapped in King’s Landing with no hope of escape, she was a rather good liar now. And he was her easiest target. Jon grew harder to lie to with each day that passed. She feared that he would break away from her and leave. That she’d foolishly revealed her deepest wish and that he would rebuff her for it.

But then he refocused on her, his eyes more aware than before. He molded his scarred hand to her cheek and searched her face for something. Whatever answer he looked for, Jon must have found, for he leaned in after a moment and brushed the lightest of kisses over her lips. Then he flinched away just slightly enough that she noticed, clearly expecting her to shove at him and shout at the indignity of his actions. Instead, Sansa lifted her hand and pressed it over his where he still held her cheek, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand before shyly meeting his eyes from beneath her lashes.

That was all that it took.

Jon’s arm slid around her slim waist quicker than she could blink, hauling her in close to him as she gasped.

“Do it,” he said, his eyes wide and pleading as he tilted her chin up gently. “Tell me to stop.”

Sansa’s chest rose and fell quickly as she reached up with shaking fingers, stroking through his hair.

“No,” she refused.

Heat scorched through his eyes once more before he bent his head towards her, claiming her lips in a far more passionate kiss than the one before. Sansa shuddered at first, all of the memories of the stolen kisses flooding into her mind before she remembered that this was Jon. _Her_ Jon. No matter what else happened or what other secrets might be revealed, one thing would never change. He would never, ever hurt her. Sansa knew that. She gave herself away to that comfort, relaxing into him as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

Their bodies molded together as best they could with all of the fabric between them, entangled so completely in the dark that anyone would have a hard time telling who was who. Sansa’s heart flipped in her chest as Jon’s tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the remnants of wine on her lips. When he pressed her against the wall and rocked his hips against hers, she gasped and let her head fall back, her eyes squeezed shut as her hands clutched at his shoulders. Jon did not stop for a moment, kissing along her jaw and teasing at a sensitive spot behind her ear with a scrape of his teeth and a flick of his tongue.

“Oh gods,” Sansa cried out, arching into him.

Jon twisted his fingers into her hair, gathering it away from her neck so that he could kiss and nip along her throat.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her skin.

Sansa shook her head, lifting her hand to hold his head to her.

“No.”

He let out a groan, the feeling of it vibrating through her and drawing up more heat from deep within her. Sansa had never felt quite this way, her skin itching for more and her body aching for relief as the juncture of her thighs throbbed desperately. The dress she wore felt far too heavy. Far too restricting. She could barely breathe, though that was largely due to how lovely Jon’s lips felt as he kissed the hollow of her throat, his tongue darting out to taste her skin.

“Please,” Sansa managed to gasp, the laces of her dress feeling far too tight now. “Please, I need… I need…”

“What do you need?” Jon asked, the husky sound to his voice sending a thrill down her spine.

She angled herself up, pushing away from the wall only to reach back and grasp at her laces.

“Off,” Sansa bit out urgently, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to do it herself.

A sharp inhale tore from her throat as Jon turned her around in an instant, causing to her slap her hands against the wall to brace herself. His fingers tugged at the laces, loosening them until her dress hung looser, allowing her to breathe far easier. Jon didn’t cease touching her, his hands falling to her hips as he stroked his lips over the side of her neck. Yet there was a sudden hesitation in his demeanor that hadn’t been there before. Sansa turned her head, meeting his gaze.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked, reaching up to clutch her gown to her chest.

Jon swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he took her in, from her mussed hair to the color high in her cheeks and her kiss swollen lips.

“No,” he said.

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, turning to face him as she let her hands drop away, pushing the gown from her shoulders and dragging it down over her hips to drop to the floor in a puddle of fabric. She stepped out of it without hesitation, reaching for him. He came willingly, the heat of his body even more potent now that she wore only a shift and smallclothes. Sansa reached between them as they kissed, her fingers shakily unbuttoning his smooth leather jerkin before shoving it down his arms to toss it away. She kicked her shoes off as they stumbled towards the bed, the backs of Jon’s knees hitting it first. As he sank down onto the mattress, his eyes lifted and she felt struck by the utter vulnerability in his gaze. Sansa tucked her hair behind her ear, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she brushed her fingers over the scars around his eyes.

Then she slowly sank to her knees, hearing his sharp intake of breath as she tugged his boots off one at a time, as she’d seen her mother do for her father before, so long ago. Sansa barely managed to straighten up again before he reached back, pulling his tunic over his head. Then he grasped her hand, guiding her to straddle his thighs. She floundered for a moment, wondering what exactly she was supposed to do and blanching at the idea of getting something wrong. Then his hands cupped her cheeks gently and he gazed at her with open awe in his dark eyes, chasing away her worries as he kissed her so sweetly that Sansa thought she might melt right then and there. Her body jerked with surprise when he laid back, bringing her with him as their kiss deepened. Sansa’s hair fell around their faces like a curtain, the hem of her shift pulling where it was trapped between her knees and the bed. Her sleeves tugged down as a result, revealing her shoulders and the tops of her breasts as she pulled away and sat up to fix it.

Yet the position landed her right atop Jon’s lap, his arousal pressing into her backside and pulling a surprised noise from her throat as he groaned at the feeling. Sansa’s eyes grew wide, her hands stilling as she stared down at him. He looked so different here. As if she was seeing him in an entirely new light. She let her eyes take him in without shame, from the curl of his dark hair to the beard that covered his jaw. Lower and lower, her gaze fell. Her attention lingered on his scars, her hands lifting of their own accord to trace the healed wounds. When she first learned of what happened to him at the Wall, it was almost hard to believe. Now that she was seeing the scars for herself, any lingering skepticism faded in an instant.

“This shouldn’t have happened to you,” Sansa said, emotion welling within her as she shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes once more. “I’m so sorry, Jon.”

Her eyes lifted, catching on his as he stared at her with something like disbelief in his eyes.

“They’re just scars,” he said, though she could hear deep in his voice that it wasn’t entirely true.

If anyone could understand, it was Sansa. She had a fair few herself and knew just how aware they made one feel. And how vulnerable they could make someone. Sansa knew what she must do, though the thought of it terrified her. She closed her eyes and lifted her hands, shaking untying the ribbons of her shift.

“Sansa,” Jon caught her hands, causing her to open her eyes once more. “You don’t-”

She gave him a smile, shaking her head as she gently pulled her hands from his.

“It’s okay,” Sansa said, loosening the ribbons completely. “I needed to see yours. Now you need to see mine.”

She climbed off his lap, turning away from him once her feet touched the floor. The oldest ones first. Somehow she knew that was how he had to see them. Sansa lifted her shift over her head and let it fall, gathering her hair over her shoulder so that he could see the marks upon her back. Scars from long healed wounds, reminding her always of Joffrey and his cruelty. Of knights that had no trace of chivalry or honor. She heard him curse quietly, his hand lifting to allow his fingers to trace over one that cut across her spine.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sansa met his eyes and saw a storm gathering there. Fury beyond belief. She felt somehow validated and comforted all at once, the look on his face giving her the strength to turn and show him the rest. The long healed cut on her hip. The little scars that stood out on her arms and thighs. The bite mark on her breast. All gifts from Ramsay. Jon’s lips parted as he took in every inch of her that he could see yet even as she waited for him to recoil in disgust, all that he did was reach for her.

She let him pull her in close, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his hair as a means of distraction. Jon didn’t look up at her this time, skimming his lips between her breasts and drawing a sigh from her lips. When his hand lifted, Sansa stilled and waited for what he would do only to let out a soft moan when he traced his thumb around her nipple, teasing and teasing until it hardened. Only then did he flick at it as she clutched his hair, heat flaring in her core at the feeling.

“Beautiful,” Jon murmured, rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb as her breath came out in short gasps. “So beautiful, my sweet Sansa.”

She felt as if she could cry, tilting her head back only to whine when his lips closed around her other nipple, sucking and licking and nipping at it as she arched into the incredible feeling of it.

“Gods, I want more,” Sansa confessed.

Jon kissed his way to her other nipple, blowing on it lightly.

“I’ll give it to you,” he promised, his tongue darting out to lick at her stiff peak. “I’ll give you everything.”

Sansa’s legs weakened just in time for him to catch her, pulling her onto his lap once more as he scooted back on the bed. Their bodies molded together as their lips met in an all consuming kiss. Jon’s hips rocked against hers as he wrapped an arm around her waist once more, her moan muffled as she felt his arousal rub against the damp smallclothes that covered her mound. She caught his pace easily, moving her hips in time with him as he hummed out his approval. Then his hand moved between them, inching into her smallclothes as she broke away from the kiss. A keening moan rose in her throat at the first touch of his calloused fingers to her folds. Jon stilled in an instant, his eyes fixing upon her face.

“Is this alright?” he asked, worry lingering in the undertones of his voice.

Sansa nodded, finding it hard to summon the words to her lips that would let him know that it was far beyond alright. Jon seemed to understand, pressing his fingers more firmly to her core as she whimpered.

“You’re already so wet for me,” Jon said, his voice low and yet filled with wonder as his middle finger traced up her slit. “So good, sweet girl.”

He stroked around her clit in circles, teasing her until she felt as if she’d come undone at the seams if he didn’t do _something._ The slightest look of amusement crossed his face as she told him as much but Sansa had no time to berate him for it before he rubbed at her sweet spot.

“Oh… Jon that-that’s so… oh gods that’s so… please don’t… don’t st-”

Sansa felt as if her tongue was tied, tripping over words as she rocked her hips desperately, grinding into his hand as he stroked and teased at her clit, sending sparks of heat and pleasure through her.

“I want to see you come,” Jon said, pulling his hand away and swallowing her noise of protest with a kiss as he carefully turned them around.

She let him gently lie her back on the bed, pushing up on her elbows to watch his fingers fumble with the ties on her smallclothes before laughing softly and batting them away to do it herself. Jon kissed her again as she wiggled out of them, feeling far less exposed than she thought possible as his hand slipped between her thighs once more. He laid out on his side next to her, parting her folds and gathering her wetness on his fingers before rubbing at her clit once more. Sansa dropped back to the bed, her hair fanning out on the furs as she moaned out his name.

Jon’s eyes remained fixed upon her as he dipped his fingers lower, teasing one at her entrace as her thumb continued stroking her clit in a gentle, relentless massage. Sansa couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, letting her own fall closed as she bit back a cry at the feeling of his finger pressing into her. At first, her body tensed at the intrusion, lingering memories flaring up again before she shoved them away, determined not to let anything or anyone ruin this for either of them. She felt helpless when it came to her hands, clenching them in her hair until Jon bent down to brush a kiss over her lips before whispering in her ear.

“Touch yourself, sweet girl,” he urged her.

Sansa whined, not sure what that meant until he guided one of her hands to her breast. Then she knew exactly what he intended for her to do. Turning her head for another kiss, she let her hands squeeze and knead at her breasts, flicking and stroking her nipples as he worked his finger in and out of her before adding a second. Sansa’s toes curled at the feeling, her lower belly forming a tight, hot coil as her skin grew more and more heated. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck even as she felt the coolness of winter touch upon the air.

“Oh go- Jon I’m… I’m close… I think I’m… I-I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Shh,” he soothed her, moving his fingers quicker as he rubbed at her clit in quick circles. “Just let go, Sansa.”

She shivered at the sound of his voice encouraging her and taking hold within her. Her body grew more and more tense as the fire in her core grew hotter with each passing second. Sansa tossed her head against the mattress, her knees drawing to her chest on their own as the coil tightened one more and released the next. Waves of uninhibited, delicious pleasure washed over her, drawing moans and cries from her lips. Breathlessly chanting Jon’s name, she fell boneless against the bed and grasped at his hand to stop him once it grew to be too much.

Jon wiped his hand on his own breeches before bracing himself over her to capture her pliant lips in a kiss. Sansa slid her arms around his shoulders, pressing her palms over his warm, smooth skin. When he started to pull away, she whined in protest and kept him close, chasing his lips for another kiss. He acquiesced all too easily, his hand falling to her bare hip as he kissed her lazily, his thumb stroking over the scar there. Sansa didn’t even flinch, feeling a deep need for more.

“What do we do now?” she asked, pulling away to look into her eyes.

Jon gave her a hesitant look.

“It would be wise to stop,” he said carefully.

Sansa considered his words for a moment, knowing even in the tingling after effects of her pleasure that he was right. If they thought this through rationally, this was an ideal place to stop. They hadn’t done anything they couldn’t take back. But her heart quickly took over her mind, reminding her off all that existed outside of this room. White Walkers and wights. Cersei and her army. Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. Everything that they couldn’t control. So many things that could easily kill them.

“Cast your wisdom away, dear Jon,” she said, pressing her hand to his cheek. “I’m not done with you quite yet.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her. Sansa pushed up to sit, guiding him until he was flat on his back once more. Her hands were surer now, unlacing his breeches as she watched him for any sign of uncertainty. Yet there was only hot desire in his eyes, encouraging her to disrobe him completely. Sansa sat back to take him in completely, his body fashioned into that of a warrior with lean yet strong muscles and silvery scars. The hair on his legs dark and coarse. His cock flushed and leaking where it curved against his belly.

Sansa reached out, wrapping her fingers around him as a curious satisfaction rose in her chest at the gasping noise that slipped out of him. She stroked him slowly, gathering the wetness on the tip to ease her task.. Sansa relished in each moan and curse that fell from his lips, shuffling forward until she straddled him. Jon watched, his eyes wide and blown with lust, as she guided him to press into her. The stretch of it burned just slightly, yet not altogether unpleasantly. It was nothing like she’d ever experienced, filling her so wholly and completely that she couldn’t help but fall in love with the feeling.

“Fuck,” Jon groaned, shuddering as she lowered herself on his cock until he was seated fully inside of her.

Sansa brushed the tips of her fingers over his abdomen, letting herself grow used to the feeilng before rocking her hips slowly. She felt almost galvanized, her body relaxing to accommodate him. It felt good in a way entirely unlike his hand had before. There was no true pleasure in it yet but she felt close to ecstasy all the same. Jon pushed himself to sit, grasping at her hips and guiding her movements as they grew quicker and more desperate. Sansa found herself moaning as she bounced and rocked against him, her hands clutching at his hair as he kissed her throat and sucked at her nipples.

“I want… I want to see you,” she gasped out, holding his head close to her chest. “Your eyes, Jon. I want-”

He didn’t let her finish, grasping her hips and flipping them over before settling in the cradle of her thighs to thrust into her once more. Sansa cried out hoarsely, her fingers digging into his back as he moved within her slowly and deliberately. His face was mere inches from hers, their noses brushing as their eyes locked together. Sansa couldn’t tear herself away, gazing at him as she felt heat building within her once more. Jon gritted his teeth and pressed his hands into the mattress on either side of her head, carefully not to yank at her hair as he thrusted into her at a quicker pace.

Sansa knew she would need more to come again, snaking one hand between them as the other grasped at his shoulder. Jon groaned and his eyes fluttered closed for just a few moments when he felt the bump of her hand as she began rubbing at her clit desperately. The noises falling from her lips fluctuated between high-pitched whines and guttural moans, intermixed with pleas for him to give her more, harder, faster. Jon didn’t disappoint, doing everything that she asked and more. When she felt the familiar rush of heat, Sansa tossed her head back and barely managed to keep from shouting his name to the ceiling, pressing her hand over her mouth as she clenched around him. Her pleasure was more intense this time, darkening her vision and making her tremble and writhe as Jon rode her through it without ceasing, all while staring down at her. Sansa dragged him in for a kiss as she came back to herself, wrapping a leg around his waist and wordlessly urging him to find his own pleasure in her now.

It didn’t take long for his hips to stutter and his face to bury in her hair as he came, his seed filling her as neither of them thought to avoid it. Sansa couldn’t bring herself to care, tears slipping down her cheeks as something deep in her chest seemed to fit together in that moment. It felt so right, being like this. Holding Jon close to her and feeling his heart race in sync with her own. She cried for him and the sadness she knew he would always feel over his birth. She cried for how long it took them to find one another. And mostly, she cried because she knew that he was leaving her the very next day.

“Shh,” Jon turned them over, gathering her into his chest as she let her emotions run free.

Sansa pressed her face into his heated skin, fitting so perfectly against his side as their legs tangled together. She didn’t know how long she cried, only that she felt drained once the last tear dried.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she admitted, knowing her words were safe with him, in the darkness. “I fear that more than anything.”

Jon didn’t say a word to reassure her. He couldn’t promise her anything without lying. There were no certainties now. Not with all they had aligning against them. Instead he brushed a kiss over the top of her head and held her close, silently vowing that he wouldn’t let go until he absolutely had to. The next day, she stood out of the falling snow and watched as he mounted a horse. Jon glanced over his shoulder as she knew he would, allowing him one last look at her. Sansa didn’t care who was watching as she let the longing show on her face, knowing he had to see it. That he had to know how desperately he’d be missed.

She watched the gates until well after they closed, unable to bring herself to move. For she dreaded the thought that she would never see him again and she didn’t know if she’d survive if if her fears became reality.

*****

Sansa couldn’t help but grimace, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as Lord Glover raged on about Daenerys Targaryen and the rumors of her merciless army. It would have been easy to blame the churn of her stomach on the dark stain she imagined was still imprinted on the stone floor. Yet she knew better than that. Baelish’s blood had been long since washed away and yet her nausea remained. As she turned her head away from the restless lords and ladies that filled the hall, her stomach gave another lurch when she met the horribly knowing gaze of her brother. Sansa willed her mind to control her retain control of her body as Bran stared back at her. There was no judgment in or shame in his eyes. She almost would have preferred that to the awareness in his dark gaze.

He knew.

Sansa mustered as scorching a glare as she could manage, though he didn’t even flinch at the sight of it. She understood very little of what he could do but Sansa had no qualms about telling him to keep far away from her private moments and dangerous secrets. For this was nearly the most dangerous of all, second only to the truth of Jon’s birth.

“My lady?”

Lord Glover looked at her expectantly, wanting to hear her thoughts on his concerns. Sansa had many, though she could not express them without endangering Jon’s position. Not when everything was already precarious enough. Sansa had more than just the North to worry about. More than just herself and Jon and all the rest. She had to say something to calm everyone.

“My lords.”

She planted her hands flat on the table, maneuvering to her feet as she prepared to reassure them yet again of Jon’s ability to lead the North as well as he could. But darkness suddenly clouded her vision and her stomach twisted violently as she listed to the side. Arya was there, quick as lightning, catching Sansa as she stumbled.

“Thank you,” Sansa murmured, shifting onto her two feet as she blinked away the darkness.

Every eye in the room was fixed upon her, each one as concerned as the other. Sansa might have felt flattered if her panic did not override everything else. They could not see her so weak. They could not begin wondering at the source of her pallid complexion and uneasy stomach. If the northern lords found out the truth, the consequences would be disastrous.

“You should rest, my lady,” Lord Royce was to say.

Sansa shook her head, refusing to hear it. There were more important things than her comfort.

“Lady Stark.”

Maester Wolkan approached slowly, looking hesitant as he drew nearer to her.

“I do not have need of you,” Sansa all but snapped before reining herself in. “I did not rest well during the night, that is all.”

The maester did not look convinced by her reassurance but nor did he voice his doubt, holding out his hand to show the raven scroll that he held, the seal unbroken. Sansa stared at it for a long moment, cold dread filling her. She knew who wrote the letter and, even worse, what it would say.

“Thank you, maester,” Sansa said quietly, reaching out to take the scroll. “I apologize for my abrupt words.”

“It’s no matter, Lady Stark,” Maester Wolkan said with a bow of his head.

She broke the seal on the scroll with trembling fingers, still feeling rather faint as she unrolled the paper and read the scrawled words. Her breath seized in her throat, her eyes reading them once, then twice, before she lifted her head and inhaled deeply.

“What is it?” Arya asked quietly.

Even with all her impatience for politics, she knew better than to demand loudly in case it was something the gathering should not know.

“The Targaryen ships have landed at White Harbor and they set out to meet the army on the Kingsroad,” Sansa said, her voice carrying around the room. “They will likely arrive at Winterfell within a fortnight.”

She barely paid the mutters and curses from around the room any mind, letting the paper slip through her fingers and fall on the table. Arya snatched it up to read Jon’s words, satisfied only when she could see it for herself. Sansa didn’t mind, finding it hard to wrap her own mind around it. Only a matter of days. That’s how long she had to figure out how to handle this situation. Her hand rose, pressing to her mouth as she felt bile rise suddenly in her throat. Sansa tried to fight through it but her stomach was quickly taking control, leaving her little choice but to excuse herself. She fled through a nearby door, moving as quickly as she could until the cold outside air hit her full in the face. Sansa paid no mind to the people speaking to her, moving as quickly as she could. Soon enough, she was hunched with one hand gripping the wall of the Great Hall and the other holding her hair back as she retched her meager breakfast into the snow. Even when it stopped, she remained in the position, breathing in and out as she dropped her hand to press over her abdomen, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could block out everything else.

“What in seven hells is wrong with you?”

Sansa exhaled slowly, hating how easily Arya could sneak about, even in ice and snow. Straightening up, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shrugged her shoulders carelessly.

“My breakfast disagreed with me,” she said simply.

Arya stared her down, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed to slits.

“When I suggested that we wait to confront and execute Littlefinger until Jon came back, you refused,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Is this why?”

A chill ran down Sansa’s spine as she wondered if she was so obvious. Or perhaps Arya spoke to Bran. The answer to Arya’s question was easy. She could not risk one more person finding out. Especially not Petyr Baelish. Not when a secret like this could topple everything.

“He couldn’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “He couldn’t.”

Arya stared at her for another long moment before nodding her head.

“I’ve heard ginger settles an uneasy stomach,” she said before turning to walk away.

Sansa let her go, leaning back against the outer stone wall of the Great Hall. When her father brought Jon to Winterfell and presented him as a bastard, it changed many things. Sansa could only imagine what may happen if she revealed to the world that she bore a child of Stark and Targaryen blood, much like her aunt before her.

*****

The entirety of Winterfell gathered as the company rode through the gates. Sansa stood next to Bran, with Arya nowhere to be found. She didn’t bother wondering where her sister had disappeared to. Arya made it quite clear that she had no desire to be a part of welcoming a foreign invader to their home. Sansa almost felt sorry for what Jon would have to endure when Arya found him later. Almost. Her sympathy fled all too quickly as she watched him ride in with the undoubtedly Targaryen queen at his side. Daenerys was as beautiful as Petyr claimed, with her silvery hair and wide violet eyes. Sansa could not help but wonder if the queen favored her brother, Jon’s father. The thoughts faded quickly as she watched Jon dismount before turning to help Daenerys from her horse. Sansa kept her face a mask of polite indifference, refusing to let her eyes narrow or her lips tighten into a frown. She was the Lady of Winterfell and one of the last surviving members of House Stark. It was winter now and she would not let this drag her down, no matter how her heart raced in her chest and her mind screamed in terror at the thought that Jon may have truly fallen in love with this woman.

“When are you going to tell him?” Bran asked in the same quiet, level voice that she was more than used to by now.

Sansa clasped her hands tightly in front of her, keeping her face neutral.

“How am I going to tell him?” she whispered in return.

He had no answer for her. As soon as Daenerys was steady on her feet, Jon turned away from her and his eyes searched the crowd for only a brief moment before settling on her. The fears in her mind grew silent at the sight of his face growing bright, his eyes shining and his lips lifting as he strode across the snow straight towards her. Sansa prayed that her stomach would remain still and unbothered as her arms lifted, wrapping around him as he reached for her and gathered her into a hug. It was nothing to the outside eye. Family reuniting with family. Yet only she could feel the brush of his lips over the shell of her ear as he turned his head.

“Trust me, please,” Jon whispered.

Sansa grew still in his arms, closing her eyes for just a moment before opening them and glancing briefly to where Daenerys stood waiting. Then she pulled away from him, refusing to meet his gaze as she stepped back to stand at Bran’s side. Sansa felt Jon looked between them before glancing around quizzically, clearly wondering where Arya was before he seemed to remember himself, turning back towards the queen that he brought to their home.

“Your Grace,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

A hush fell over the courtyard and Sansa glanced around to see displeasure cross the face of every northern lord and lady there. She knew that this wouldn’t be easy. It was up to her to ensure that they remained loyal. She couldn’t have cared less for the Dragon Queen and her army except that Jon had risked himself by bringing them there. There was every chance that this unfamiliar queen would sniff out any trace of disloyalty and burn Winterfell to the ground with all of them in it. Sansa had a fine line to walk and she knew that she had to begin now.

“This is Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, and Brandon Stark, our brother.”

Sansa nearly jolted at the oddness of the lie upon his lips. They agreed that he would keep the truth of his parentage to himself. The rumors all spoke of a woman who saw rule of the Seven Kingdoms as her birthright and they could only imagine that she wouldn’t take well to a man that not only withheld the north but directly challenged her claim to the throne.

“You are lovely,” Daenerys said, focusing on Sansa.

“As are you,” Sansa said, forcing a mild smile to her face. “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

She bowed her head and nothing more, refusing to fall to her knees before this woman. Yet Daenerys looked pleased, taking Jon’s arm in her own. Hot, bitter jealousy burned through Sansa and she pressed her lips together as her stomach flipped, forcing herself to breathe in and out slowly.

“I can escort you to your chambers, if you wish,” Sansa said once she felt confident that she wouldn’t heave right there.

“How gracious of you,” Daenerys said, a sense of entitlement coming off of her in waves.

Sansa turned away from them, feeling every eye in the yard upon her as she led them towards the Great Keep. She didn’t bother looking back at who followed, allowing Jon to point out different parts of Winterfell. As lady of the keep, she was failing utterly in her duty to welcome them but Sansa couldn’t bring herself to do it. Luckily, Daenerys did not seem to be knowledgeable of Westerosi tradition and therefore seemed far from insulted and instead rather pleased to have Jon as her guide instead. Quite suddenly, Sansa felt the need to vomit for an entirely different reason.

“These are yours, Your Grace,” Sansa said, stopping at a set of chambers. “I oversaw their preparation myself. If anything meets with your disapproval, let me know and I will do my best to rectify it.”

Daenerys gave her a close-lipped smile that made her skin crawl, reaching out to brush a hand over Sansa’s arm through her cloak and gown.

“I’m certain it will be perfect,” she said, glancing from Sansa to Jon and back.

Sansa simply lowered her head in a show of appreciation before watching as she entered the chambers, followed closely by another woman who gave Sansa a far warmer smile. Two guards took up post outside of the doors, standing stiff and silent with spears in their hands. Sansa eyed them warily before turning her attention on the others that followed. Her heart stuttered in her chest when she spotted a familiar face.

“Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said, blinking at him with surprise.

He looked incredibly different and yet exactly the same all at once. Sansa wasn’t sure what to think of his presence. A Lannister in the middle of her family home left a bitter taste in her mouth but then he always treated her kindly, unlike the rest of his family.

“My lady,” Tyrion said, bowing to her.

She offered him a shallow curtsy before standing up.

“Shall I escort you as well?” Sansa asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” Tyrion said with a shake of his head. “I’m certain that you can elect a servant to bring myself, Lord Varys, and Lord Mormont to our chambers.”

Sansa’s eyes darted from Tyrion to the ever mysterious Lord Varys, who eyed her with a mixture of surprise and consideration brewing in his eyes, and a man that she’d never seen before. Yet Sansa could easily identify him. There was truly only one man who could claim the title of Lord Mormont after the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch died, unless little Lyanna Mormont decided to take a husband without telling anyone. Sansa could not decide what to think of Jorah Mormont. She knew that her father chased him from Westeros and she knew why. Yet he was here, with Daenerys Targaryen’s company. A northman and yet allied with a woman that Sansa couldn’t yet identify as a friend or an enemy.

“My lords,” she said, feeling far too tired to consider it all now.

“My lady,” Lord Varys said with a bow of his head.

“Lady Stark,” Jorah said, bowing fully.

She felt almost grateful when a servant stepped forward to lead them away, breathing easier once they were out of sight. Then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and tensed once more. With everyone else gone to their chambers to wash or rest, only one remained in the corridor with her.

“Excuse me,” she said, unable to think of dismissing herself without at least a word.

Sansa turned away from him, clasping her hands tightly together as she walked as quick as she could. Her ears picked up the sound of footsteps following her and she prayed that he would not be so foolish. But Jon defied her hopes, catching her arm and pulling her into an alcove.

“Let me go,” she said, tugging away from him.

Jon released her only to catch her face in his hands.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

Sansa shook her head, closing her eyes.

“I can’t,” she said, hating how easily her body gave way to his as she leaned into him.

“You can,” Jon said, brushing a kiss over her forehead.

Sansa hated the tears that welled in her eyes, knowing from Maester Luwin’s books that her condition would amplify her existing emotions.

“We can’t do this,” Sansa said, trying to convince herself to pull away. “Everything is different.”

Jon tilted her head up, silently urging her to look. Sansa couldn’t resist any longer, peering up at him and meeting his eyes. Those eyes that were all too easily to fall into. Those eyes that captured her and held her in place.

“This isn’t different,” he said, giving her a smile though there was a distant wariness in his eyes, as if he expected her wrath at any moment. “Gods how I missed you.”

As much as Sansa wanted to lean into the words and kiss him until they were both breathless, in spite of all her anger at his actions and fear of their future, she restrained herself and pulled his hands away from her face.

“You don’t understand,” she said, willing him to figure it out on his own.

There was no reason that he should and no way that he could but Sansa did not want to speak the words. She hadn’t even admitted them out loud to herself. Now she had to tell him and she didn’t know how.

“Is there another?” Jon asked, his face falling.

Sansa barely withheld a hysterical laugh at the irony of him asking that when he rode into Winterfell with a beautiful, unmarried queen at his side. If anyone had a right to ask such things, it was her.

“No, there isn’t,” Sansa said, shaking her head.

“Then what is it?” he asked.

Sansa opened her mouth, though she had no inkling of what she might say, only to snap it shut when she heard the sound of footsteps passing by.

“We can’t do this,” she said, turning away from him as her fear and hesitation took over.

“Sansa.”

Jon caught her wrist, holding her back before she even made it up two steps. Sansa looked down at him, trepidation filling her as she saw the confusion in his eyes.

“You’re beginning to worry me.”

This time, her laugh did escape her lips, though it was by no means amused.

“You should be worried,” Sansa said, pulling her wrist from his hand.

“Sansa, please listen to me on this. I know that you must be angry but I cannot explain to you how much we need Daenerys and her-”

“I’m with child.”

Jon’s body grew as still as stone, his eyes wide and his lips parted as he stared at her. Sansa cursed inwardly, hating that she’d announced it so abruptly. With tears in her eyes and shaking hands gripping at her skirts, she backed away another step and shook her head.

“You should be worried,” Sansa repeated as a tear slipped down her cheek.

With that, she turned and fled. Though she knew it was the way of a craven, Sansa couldn’t bear to see the look upon his face when it sank in. She couldn’t bear to see horror and regret in his eyes. Not when she felt like she could break apart at any second. She simply could not bear it. All that she needed was more time. A little longer to pretend like her world wasn’t about to shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and commented on the first chapter! I replied to most of the comments and I'll get to the rest soon. It's an understatement to say that I'm blown away by the response and so incredibly grateful for it. Thank you again!
> 
> This is not following show canon throughout s8. It's divergent after s7. Some elements might be similar but it's a different storyline.

Sansa took the steps slowly, weariness flooding every inch of her body. Yet she kept climbing, the promise of her constant refuge pushing her. She knew that she wasn’t alone. Ghost was too quiet to be heard, even on the snow-packed steps. He was the one living soul that she could tolerate at the moment. If she could be granted one wish, it would be that everyone else simply leave her be. But that wasn’t anything that the Lady of Winterfell could have. Not when she had the responsibility of thousands of lives on her shoulders.

She needed a chance to breathe. It was all that she asked for. So she made her way up to the battlements and braced her hands upon the stone wall as she inhaled slowly, tilting her head back towards the grey, cloudy sky. Her breath steamed in the air, her face growing numb from the cold as she stood there. Sansa felt distant from the world when she was here. Wind ruffled her hair and flurries of snow kissed her skin. She relished in every bit of it, letting the essence of the North settle deep within her. It was times like this that she truly felt like a daughter of Winterfell.

Sansa had been shut away in her chambers for the better part of the day, going over every bit of information that she could find on their food stores, as well as the archives that Maester Luwin had kept stored away in the library for years, along with every maester that came before him. She tried her best to reallocate, hoping that the glass gardens might offer enough to keep at least some supply incoming. No matter how she calculated and recalculated, she always wound up in the same place.

Far too many people that would starve before winter’s end, and that was only if they survived the White Walkers and their undead army.

Soldiers would be the priority. They had to fight the battles. Children would come next, then the women. The elderly and infirm fell to the bottom of the list, no matter what she tried. Sansa closed her eyes against the thoughts, knowing that her tears would only freeze in the cold. As much sadness as the reality of the situation caused her, it was something else that caused her tears, welling up in her chest and making her want to scream. Pure, unadulterated fury.

At the winter. At the White Walkers. At the Dragon Queen and her armies, taking away resources from those Sansa vowed to provide for and protect. At Jon for bending the knee to her and Tyrion for bringing her to Westeros at all. At each and every terrible thing that had happened since she left Winterfell to go south and at each person who tried to break House Stark into pieces. She was angry, if only because she felt helpless. And that was something that Sansa never wanted to feel again.

Her eyes opened, settling upon the wolfswood beyond all of the tents pitched outside of the walls of Winterfell. As she stared and stared, Sansa barely heard the sound of someone approaching until Ghost tensed at her side and bared his teeth in a silent growl. It was a recent behavior of his, putting himself between her and anyone who dared approach. She had a feeling why he did it, and why he hadn’t gone back to Jon as soon as he arrived back at Winterfell. There was more to protect than just her own life. Ghost likely sensed it.

Turning her head, she watched as a vaguely familiar faced came closer. She hadn’t spoken with him yet, only seen him in passing and learned his name from Bran. He had been a brother of the Night’s Watch and one of Jon’s closest friends and fiercest advocates. It was Samwell Tarly that got him elected as Lord Commander and Samwell Tarly that brought dozens of old tomes and scrolls to Winterfell, pilfered from the Citadel in Oldtown. He brought a wildling woman and her child as well, though Sansa didn’t yet know the story on that.

“My lady,” he huffed, pressing a hand over his stomach as he glanced around, his eyes scanning the view. “Hello Ghost.”

“Lord Tarly,” Sansa greeted him with a nod.

Something like pain flashed through his eyes at her words, though she couldn’t imagine why.

“Just Sam, Lady Stark, please,” he said, finally bowing to her.

Sansa nodded her head slowly, wondering why he’d approached her.

“Do you need something from me, Sam?” she asked.

It was hard to figure out why anyone else would want to climb this high, especially if they did not know one another.

“I saw you come up here,” Sam said, gesturing around them. “I was coming to find you anyway. I’m assisting Maester Wolkan in every way I can and he asked me to bring you this.”

Sansa watched as he handed over a small vial. She recognized it all too easily. Ever since Maester Wolkan learned of her condition, he’d been offering her a tonic to calm her stomach. Sansa accepted it easily, knowing that the chance of vomiting at any moment would impede her ability to see to her duties.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the vial from him and tucking it away into a pocket of her gown.

Sam nodded, half-turning before looking at her once more.

“Are you well, my lady?” he asked.

Sansa stared at him for a long moment before narrowing her eyes at him, drawing her cloak tighter around her.

“Why do you ask?”

Sam looked surprised, as if it was the last thing he expected to hear.

“I, er… well I… I just wanted to make sure, I suppose,” he said, stumbling over his words.

“And Jon has not mentioned anything to you?” Sansa asked, lifting her chin.

Sam’s face was a mask of innocence but she could see the truth in his eyes. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, evidence enough of what he hid from her. As she huffed out a sigh and turned away from him, Sam shuffled a few steps towards her. He hardly looked bothered by Ghost’s tense stance.

“He did say he’s worried,” Sam said warily, as if he knew he shouldn’t mention it. “But nothing more.”

Sansa pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to shout curses to the sky. It would not have angered her quite so much if Jon hadn’t been keeping a fair distance from her over the past two days. She knew that he had attended to the queen and her company. He was still trying to bridge the gap between the two sides. Yet he hadn’t spoken a word to Sansa since pulling her into that alcove. A part of her was furious beyond belief and the other part understood. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out the way she did. He deserved a gentler reveal, though she could not offer such to him now.

Even so, she deserved better than to be ignored and avoided and for that reason alone, she turned to face Samwell Tarly once more.

“I appreciate that you are concerned for your friend,” Sansa said, keeping her voice as warm as she could manage. “I’ve heard that the two of you are very close and I appreciate everything you have done for him. But if Jon wishes to allay his concerns, he can do so himself. I won’t pass messages through a middleman. We’ve been through far too much to live that way. Do you understand, Lord Samwell?”

Sam’s eyes grew wide and he nodded slowly, as if he was somehow entranced.

“Of course, Lady Stark,” he said, bowing to her.

Sansa couldn’t help but give him the slightest smile.

“Please, call me Sansa.”

*****

“I must ask.”

Sansa nearly leapt from her skin, her breath catching in her throat as her brush slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Turning her wide eyes upon the doorway to her bedchamber, she knew that she should not allow herself to be startled by Arya anymore. Her younger sister had proven that she was quite capable of sneaking about, as quiet as Ghost when she wanted to be. Even the direwolf himself did not react to her presence, stretched out before the fireplace and enjoying the warmth as he slept on. Arya was the one person he did not leap to defend Sansa against.

“Ask?” Sansa repeated, bending down to pick up her brush once more.

Arya nodded slowly, moving further into the room.

“It’s time we spoke of it.”

Her eyes cut purposefully to Sansa’s midsection and understanding came over her like an icy cloak. Sansa knew that this moment would. Arya may have figured out her condition for herself but it was far less easy to figure out who else took part in making it happen.

“Get on with it, then,” Sansa said, trying to pretend as though panic did not claw at her chest as she turned in her chair again.

Arya didn’t say anything right away, hesitating before crossing the room to sit on the edge of her bed. Sansa tried to seem as aloof as possible, running the bristles of the brush rhythmically through her auburn hair.

“Is it Littlefinger’s?”

Sansa stilled, her eyes falling closed as she felt sickened that his was the first name that came to mind. Though she did not feel surprised. It seemed that she was not the only one to recognize his intent. She felt almost comforted that Arya saw it too, though it was far from the reason he died.

“No,” she said honestly, grateful that she could confidently make such an assertion. “Though it would be, if he had it his way.”

Sansa didn’t expect an exclamation of relief but nor did she anticipate Arya’s heavy sigh in response. Looking over at her, she saw indecision written across her face and wariness in her eyes.

“I could only think of two possibilities,” Arya said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sansa swallowed hard, gripping the back of her chair tightly as she waited.

“He was never a brother to you anyway,” her sister said, looking off into the fireplace. “Not really. Not like Robb or Bran or Rickon. I suppose that made it easier.”

“It wasn’t-“ Sansa huffed, breaking off and shaking her head. “It wasn’t about easy. It just… It was right and… good. It was good.”

Arya’s nose wrinkled as she focused on Sansa once more, making it clear that she didn’t want details.

“Have you told him?”

Sansa nodded, glancing away from her.

“Not that it matters,” she said softly, her heart sinking. “Not should it. There are far more important things to worry about.”

She couldn’t see Arya’s face, and therefore missed the resolution that took hold in her eyes.

“No,” Arya said, her voice quiet. “There really aren’t.”

*****

It made a peculiar kind of sense that the day Ghost went out to hunt was the day that Jon finally decided to come to her. Sansa found herself in the library glancing through some of the scrolls and books that Sam stole from the Citadel, hoping to find anything that may help. It was doubtful that she’d actually read something of use, for everything that the maesters recorded was entirely subjective, though she was still willing to try anything. When she heard the approaching footsteps, she glanced up in time to see him round a stack of shelves and stop short at the sight of her.

If it weren’t for the utter lack of surprise on his face, Sansa might have thought that he stumbled upon her by accident. Jon hovered several feet away, his hands clasped behind his back as he glanced around at everything except for her. She could see the hesitation written across his face and the dread in the way that he stood at a distance. Closing the book that sat before her, Sansa sat back in her chair and waited, unwilling to give him a respite from his own uncertainty.

If he wanted to speak to her, he’d have to do it first.

After all, she wasn’t the one who avoided him for nearly three days. Sansa knew that he had to come to terms with her revelation but that did not excuse his cowardice. It was not any easier for her to swallow and yet she could not avoid the truth of the situation quite so easily. A man had the luxury of distancing himself from such a consequence. A woman had no choice but to live with it. Sansa studied him quietly, wondering why he came and if Arya had anything to do with it.

“Are you well?” he asked, his eyes finally settling on her.

Sansa considered the question carefully before answering, folding her hands in her lap.

“I’ve been worse.”

Dissatisfaction rose in his eyes. Sansa knew that her answer gave him little to work with. Yet it was the truth. Her past suffering far surpassed anything that she was experiencing at the moment. And yet her heart was far more twisted with uncertainty and her future was entirely unclear. Not only the war with the dead, if she survived it, but even beyond that. What would become of her? The Lady of Winterfell carrying her cousin’s child outside of the bonds of marriage?

“Sam was only trying to help,” Jon said carefully, easing his way closer to her. “It’s something that comes naturally to him. Along with meddling, I suppose.”

Sansa pressed her lips together to keep from allow even the smallest of smiles to grace her face.

“And dragon riding?” she asked after a moment, lifting her eyes to stare deep into his. “Did that come naturally to you?”

Jon’s eyes widened ever so slightly and he looked at a loss for words. She took the chance to stand, gathering the books and scrolls to deliver them back where they belonged.

“How-”

“You were hard to miss, apparently,” she said, moving around him. “I am one of the few who didn’t see.”

Jon let out a sigh and she could sense him rubbing at his forehead even though she could not see it.

“Sansa it-it’s not what you think.”

She whirled around, her skirts rustling over the stone floor as she fixed him with a glare.

“I have no idea what to think. You would have to speak to me or perhaps even look me in the eyes for me to know your mind.”

Jon stared back at her, his jaw working.

“You are the one who ran from me,” he reminded her.

Sansa inhaled sharply, her hand instinctively rising to press to her abdomen. Jon’s eyes dropped, following the movement with an inscrutable emotion in their depths.

“I feared your reaction,” she said quietly, letting her hand fall. “I cannot help but think that I was right to.”

Jon’s eyes darted back up to meet hers and he took a step forward.

“You didn’t give me a chance to react,” he said tightly.

Sansa gritted her teeth, refusing to let him lay this all at her feet. She made her share of mistakes but they were all born from his own decisions.

“Perhaps I would not have been so reticent if not for your decision to bend the knee to a foreign queen.”

Jon took a step back, as if her words were as forceful as a shove.

“You wish to discuss this? Now?”

Sansa pressed her lips together, tempted to tell him that she wished they didn’t have to speak of it. That it never happened at all.

“The dead march towards us even as we speak, we’re bound to lose people to this winter whether through starvation or war, Cersei is still a threat to us no matter how naive the rest of you want to be, and I bear your child in my womb. I do not think that we have the luxury of leaving this discussion for another time,” Sansa said plainly, daring him to counter her words.

He did not, swallowing hard and glancing away from her as shame and regret crossed his face. A sour taste formed in her mouth at the thought that he regretted lying with her. Spilling his seed inside of her. She already knew that she was alone. His regret only made it worse. Sansa took a deep breath, willing away the tears that stung at her eyes.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” she breathed out, shaking her head. “Littlefinger tried to convince me that you would find yourself in her snares but I told myself that it wasn’t true. That you were too smart for it. Too practical. Not like the other men I knew. Not led around by your desires. Not my-“

Sansa cut off, looking away from him.

“Sansa-“

“Have you lain with her?”

“No,” Jon said, shaking his head.

Sansa turned to fix him with a look once more.

“Will you?”

He let out a sigh, reaching up to scrub at his face.

“Gods, Sansa, you must know I wouldn’t-“

“I know nothing!”

Jon dropped his hands, blinking with shock at her shout. Or perhaps it was the words themselves. Sansa could not tell as he blinked and glanced away from her.

“I feared the worst,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “That you were taken prisoner or killed and that our-our child was half an orphan before the war even began.”

She turned her back to him, refusing to let him see the single tear that slipped down her cheek.

“You did not write. Not until after you went north of the Wall and then back south to King’s Landing. Not until you wrote to tell me that you intended to board a ship with a beautiful woman and to bring her armies and her dragons to our home.”

“I-I did not think to…” Jon trailed off.

Sansa wiped her tears away before facing him once more.

“I had to find out about our child alone,” she said, staring into his eyes. “I had to face the thought of going through all of this alone. Forgive me if I find it difficult to forget the sight of you riding through the gates of _our_ home with a queen by your side as I stood forgotten and alone with your babe in my belly.”

Jon stared at her with eyes that burned with guilt and anger. Whether it was directed at her or not, Sansa couldn’t know.

“And today you ride a dragon, as if it is nothing. As if _you_ are nothing. But what might have happened to me if you slipped from that dragon and fell to your death? What would happen to _us_?”

Sansa pressed her hand over her midsection more firmly, calling his attention to the child they made. Jon stared at her for a long moment, looking at a loss for words. It was in that moment that a knock came on the library doors. They both stepped apart quickly, though there was already several feet of distance between them. But the tension could not be broken so easily and Maester Wolkan looked far from comfortable as he stepped inside.

“A rider has come, Your Grace,” he said, still in the habit of deferring to Jon as such. “My lady.”

Sansa glanced at Jon and saw that he was turned away, his hands clenched into fists.

“Who?” she asked, for she knew he wouldn’t.

“Ser Jaime Lannister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I love you all!
> 
> Once again, this is departing from the show in a lot of ways. Other than the basic set-up of s7, consider pretty much everything to be different unless I mention otherwise within the text. I also don't have just six episodes to get through a hell of a lot of story so it will be a little bit slower as well.
> 
> Some lines in this chapter are taken from the recently aired episodes. I do not own the familiar dialogue.

Sansa kept her hands folded in her lap to hide how they shook. Not with fear, but something more than anger. A rage that burned slowly in her chest, aimed at the woman who sat to her left. At her audacity, to sit in the principle chair of the room that belonged to generations of Starks before her. Including Lord Rickard Stark, Sansa’s grandfather. A man that burned at the behest of Aerys Targaryen. It would have passed to Brandon Stark, if he didn’t choke as he did everything that he could to reach his sword. To save his father.

And knowing that to be true, Daenerys decided to sit before them all and speak against the murder of her father.

Jaime Lannister was by no means an innocent man. Sansa could list several crimes for which he should be held accountable. Killing the Mad King was not one of them. She wondered how many knew the truth of it. Brienne told her when Sansa expressed her anger at the Lannister armies coming north, relaying the story as best she could remember. It was a bid for Sansa to trust Jaime Lannister’s honor, though it was hard to do so when she could still remember the sight of her father, feverish and unconscious as he suffered from an injury to his leg. An injury that resulted from a confrontation with the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The same Kingsguard that beat and humiliated her at the command of Ser Jaime’s bastard son.

She could think of many reasons to hate him. Yet Sansa saw something as he stared down the queen before him. Perhaps it was in the clench of his jaw, as if he couldn’t bear to stand before her. Or perhaps it was in the depths of his emerald eyes, the same color and shape as his twin’s, yet so different. Cersei’s grew cold in anger, hardening into a proper imitation of the jewels which they resembled. Jaime’s eyes looked far different, burning bright and hot as he stared at Daenerys without flinching. His flesh and blood hand clenched and unclenched periodically at his side and she could hear the leather of his glove creaking even from where she sat. His shoulders were tense and his gaze darted to his sword every so often where it laid across the table in front of Daenerys. A sword that Sansa recognized, even though she had only seen it once and a long time ago.

Widow’s Wail, Joffrey called it.

Sansa’s eyes darted about the room as she took the measure of everyone else who filled it. Tyrion was doing his best to school his face into indifference but she could see the panic in his eyes as he watched his chosen queen all but threaten to execute his brother. Lord Varys seemed almost disinterested if it wasn’t for how he eyed Daenerys, as if he simply watched to see what she might do. The rest sat in wait, ready to go along with whatever Daenerys decided.

On the other side of the room, Davos looked torn between interest and concern. Lord Royce looked detached, though he knew the crimes of the Lannisters. The Vale had the luxury of being largely untouched by their treachery. Their justice was served when Littlefinger died not inches away from where Ser Jaime stood. Sansa’s stomach churned at the memory and she pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply as her eyes fell upon her sworn shield. Brienne looked ready to leap to her feet at any moment, as if her defense alone could save Jaime Lannister from his fate.

Perhaps it would, but Sansa could not trust Daenerys to take her word. She trusted Brienne with her life but she couldn’t take the chance that others would doubt her.

“Your sister pledged to send her army north,” Daenerys said, cutting through Sansa’s thoughts.

“She did,” Jaime agreed, looking far from impressed.

“I don’t see any army. It appears your sister lied to me.”

Every eye in the room turned to the man that stood at the center of it, no trace of Lannister colors on his clothing. He could have been anyone. Sansa remembered the golden finery he wore when she first saw him and wondered just how much the last few years had taken from him, apart from his hand, his father, and his children.

“She lied to me as well,” he said, and Sansa could hear the weariness in his words. “She never had any intention of sending her army north. She has Euron Greyjoy’s fleet and twenty thousand fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for.”

As he spoke, Daenerys turned her head towards Tyrion. Sansa could not see the look upon her face but it could not be anything resembling good judging by the uncertainty that flitted through her former husband’s eyes.

“Even if we defeat the dead, she’ll have more than enough to finish off the survivors.”

“We?” Daenerys repeated, disbelief in her voice.

Jaime gave her a hard look before lifting his chin.

“I promised to fight for the living. I intend to keep that promise.”

“Your Grace, I know my brother.”

Daenerys looked to Tyrion again, as if she could not quite believe that he had the gall to speak up.

“Like you knew your sister?” she demanded.

Sansa slowly drifted out of their argument, her eyes settling upon the sword that sat on the table. Lord Tywin would not admit to where he managed to find the Valyrian steel to create it but Sansa knew. A truth whispered into her ear by Petyr Baelish as they sailed towards the Vale. A reminder to fear the Lannisters so that she would hide in the shadow he cast over her. They already destroyed everything that she held dear, he told her. Did she really want to give Cersei the chance to see her dead too?

“Your sword,” she said, caring little for whatever spat she interrupted.

Sansa felt all eyes upon her but didn’t look anywhere but at the weapon in question.

“Do you know where it came from?” Sansa asked, tearing her eyes away from the sword to look at Ser Jaime.

The hesitation in his gaze was enough to answer her question.

“I do,” he said, confirming it for the rest of the room.

Sansa’s eyes darted to Brienne, where she touched her own sword. Oathkeeper. A physical symbol of the promise that both she and Jaime made to Sansa’s mother and the twin to Widow’s Wail. Looking back to Jaime, Sansa gave him an expectant stare and waited, knowing that everyone else felt confused.

“It was… reforged from a Valyrian steel greatsword.”

Sansa heard a sharp intake of breath from her left and knew who it belonged to. Jon understood far more than anyone else.

“Ice,” she said, the single word echoing in the hall around her. “That was the name of my father’s sword.”

The silence that filled the hall was thick with tension. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Jon leaning forward in his chair, his hands gripping the arms of it so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“My sworn shield, Brienne of Tarth, carries the other sword forged from its steel,” Sansa said, nodding Brienne’s way. “She has spent quite a bit of time trying to convince me of your honor, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime looked towards Brienne briefly before his eyes warily returned to Sansa.

“I am not your father,” he said.

Sansa stared at him, her face unchanging.

“You do not need to convince me of that,” she said, clasping her hands before her. “But Brienne has faith in you and I have faith in her.”

Jaime’s eyes widened ever so slightly as Sansa saw Daenerys’ head snap towards her and a heavy sigh from the man that sat on her other side. She didn’t look to either Daenerys or Jon, ready to make her own judgment at Lady of Winterfell. This was still her home and she was still unafraid.

“Perhaps it is fate that brought the two swords forged from Ice back to defend Winterfell,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes falling to the sword once more before sweeping around the room. “I see no reason to turn him away. We should let him stay.”

She did not allow her gaze to waver, watching the surprise and relief cross Ser Jaime’s face.

“What does the Warden of the North have to say about it?” Daenerys asked, sounding less than pleased at Sansa’s declaration.

Sansa’s jaw clenched as her hands clasped tighter together, annoyance unfurling in her chest. Jon let out a sigh before answering, resignation in his voice.

“We need every man we can get.”

Jaime nodded once as Sansa pressed her lips together.

“Very well,” Daenerys said, likely finding no reason to oppose their decision.

Sansa looked on as she nodded for Jaime to come forward and take his weapon. As he lifted it and stepped back to refasten it to his belt, she opened her mouth to speak her last words.

“Rename it,” Sansa said, bringing his attention back to her.

Jaime stared at her, awareness in his gaze. She waited for his nod, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly once she saw it. Before he could even take a step back, Daenerys began to rise. Sansa did the same, yet she did not wait for a dismissal. She may have declared herself queen but these walls belonged to the Starks for thousands of years before the Targaryens darkened the skies with their dragons. Sansa would not bend. Not now. Not ever. Turning away, she strode out of the hall without a single glance backwards, ignoring the feeling of every eye upon her. Though Sansa could sense someone following her after her first few steps, she did not stop or even slow down, carving a quick path through the castle. She had a sense that she knew exactly who followed her. Brienne wouldn’t dare to storm after her with such determination and none of the rest cared enough to. As she reached her chambers, the door barely shut before it was open again. Sansa turned around with wide eyes as Jon closed and latched it behind them before staring her down.

“Why do you insist on antagonizing her?”

Sansa’s heart sank, not at the anger in his voice but at the source of that anger. Of course he came to her to take up Daenerys’ cause. She didn’t know why she expected any less.

“I am not antagonizing her,” she said through gritted teeth, ready to unleash worse than any of the seven hells upon him.

“Jaime Lannister does not deserve to have you speak for him,” Jon said, drawing closer to her.

Sansa let out a disbelieving scoff.

“What happened to ‘we need every man we can get?’” she demanded, her temper burning hotter the longer he stood before her. “Is this about your queen or is it about Jaime Lannister?”

He stared at her, unwilling to rise to the bait.

“You could have let someone else take up his cause. Tyrion might have brought her to the same end and-”

“Do not,” Sansa bit out, shaking her head as she turned to walk away from him. “I will not be silenced in my own home. Not by her and most certainly not by you.”

“I am not trying to silence you.”

“Then what are you doing?” Sansa demanded, turning around.

He let out a sigh, reaching up to rub at his forehead.

“I told you that we needed allies,” Jon said, though he wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

“You didn’t tell me that you were going to abandon your crown,” she said, turning away from him.

Jon heaved out a sigh as she poured two cups of wine. Sansa might have been furious with him but she would not refuse him any comfort. Not with all that had happened and all that _would_ happen.

“I never wanted a crown,” he said, his voice raising. “I brought two armies home with me. Two dragons.”

“And a Targaryen queen,” Sansa said accusingly, whirling around to face him once more.

The words dripped from her mouth like poison, as if she could make Daenerys Targaryen disappear if she hoped for it enough. Jon let out a small scoff, shaking his head.

“Do you think we can beat the army of the dead without her?” he demanded, his eyes blazing. “I’ve fought them, Sansa, twice! You want to worry about who holds what title and I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter. Without her, we don’t stand a chance.”

Sansa pressed her lips together as a monstrous heat burned through her, bringing color to her cheeks and setting her heart to racing. She knew what it was. Jealousy always made her feel uncomfortable, as if she couldn’t quite fit in her own skin. Yet she never expected to feel it quite like this.

“What about after?” she said, tilting her head to the side.

Jon stared at her, looking at a loss for words once more.

“You win this battle, she takes her fight south, and chases Cersei from the throne… and then?”

Sansa waited to hear his assurance that he would fight for the North’s independence. Instead he looked away from her, hiding his eyes from her yet again.

“She’ll be a good queen,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For all of us.”

Sansa clenched her jaw, hating the tears that stung at her eyes. Words crawled their way up her throat, scalding her tongue as she held them behind her teeth. She couldn’t bear to say it. To ask him what she craved to know.

_Do you love her?_

Sansa turned away before he could seize her tears, lifting one of the cups to her lips to drink of it slowly.

“You should leave,” she said quietly.

“Sansa…”

“I want you to leave.”

Jon’s sharp intake of breath felt like a dagger to the heart but she did not look at him. Even as she heard his footsteps and the sound of the door closing. She did not look, sipping at wine as silent tears left wet tracks down her cheeks.

*****

Sansa took a small pleasure in breaking her fast alone. Not only for the peace that solitude offered, but for the relief of not having to excuse herself with pleasantries as her stomach heaved it all up again. There was a guilt in the back of her mind, that she was wasting food when people would be starving before the winter ended. But Sansa knew there was no choice. There was a babe that needed nourishing and she had to think of it on equal ground with her people, for it was a part of her.

“ _Love no one but your children_ ,” Cersei’s whisper rose up from the dredges of her mind.

She brushed the memory away, wiping the back of her mouth as she straightened up from her crouch on the stone floor and made her way to the outer chamber to call on a maid. Yet it haunted her all the same, as she made her way out into the castle grounds, her cloak shielding her from the worst of the cold yet unable to keep the ghosts of her past away. Sansa wondered what her father might think of her now. She tried not to remember him as the horror that Joffrey made her look upon, but as the man that loved the North. The man that stood upon the bridge between the Bell Tower to the rookery to watch over his children and his people, her mother ever at his side.

What might he see in her?

Sansa had no misconceptions about her father. She knew that she was not the closest to his heart. It may have been Robb that he favored, strong and steady. As perfect a son to succeed him as any could imagine. Maybe Arya, whose Stark blood ran so deep. Or Bran, who always laughed so easily. But as she climbed the steps and stood where Ned Stark once did, she wondered if Jon might have nestled his way into a special spot in her father’s heart. A spot that belonged to no one else. He must have been a reminder of Lyanna, who used her last words to entrust her child to her brother’s protection. Still, Sansa hoped that her father might be proud of her now.

She could not help but wonder what might have been different had he had shared the secret with the rest of them. Quite suddenly, Sansa felt the ache of a useless wish in her heart. A wish for another life, where Jon was raised as her cousin instead of her brother. A life where her affections for him could build gradually instead of the confusing onslaught of the past year. Standing there, she closed her eyes as she felt a different kind of coldness seep into her bones. Another specter. Another ghost to haunt these halls. The smell of mint clung to the air, though she was certain it was her mind’s own making.

“ _What do you want that you do not have?_ ”

Exhaling slowly, Sansa watched her breath fade from the air before letting her eyes fall closed. Her hand rose slowly, pressing over her abdomen. A part of her wished that they’d shown more care. This wasn’t the time to bring a child into the world but it went beyond that. There was fear rooted so deeply in her chest that she wouldn’t let it see the light of day. A fear that her belly would never have the chance to grow round. That the Night King and his army would break through every defense and kill them all, bringing an endless winter to Westeros. Sansa pressed her hand more firmly against her stomach, as if she could will the child to live.

“My lady.”

Her hand dropped quickly, as if she’d been burned. Sansa’s head snapped to the left, as if she had to look to identify the man that interrupted her thoughts. Tyrion Lannister’s voice was all too recognizable. She glanced over him, hardly recognizing him as the man she knew in what felt like another lifetime.

“It’s rather early, isn’t it?” she asked, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.

The smallest of smiles pulled at Tyrion’s lips, an acknowledgement of their past. Sansa lived as his wife long enough to learn his routines. Early rising was not among them.

“I’ve had to relinquish certain comforts over the last few years,” he said honestly.

Sansa glanced away from him, wondering what he knew of sacrifice. Her eyes flitted down to the courtyard, in the exact spot where she stood staring down at the body of her youngest brother. She wondered if he saw a castle that might have been his, in another life. In a world where Joffrey did not die and she remained his wife. Did he regret that he could never claim Winterfell through her?

“It’s been some time,” Tyrion said.

She nodded in agreement, her eyes sweeping over the yard.

“I first saw Joffrey here,” Sansa said, remembering how youthful and carefree she’d been.

The world hadn’t revealed its cruelties to her yet. Her fears were few and her mind was full of stories and songs. Sansa almost mourned for the girl she once was but standing here in the middle of her family castle that she shed blood and tears to regain, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single thing she’d done to get there.

“And you saw him last at his wedding,” Tyrion said.

She heard the edge to his words. An unspoken question and unrevealed hurt. He resented that she left him to face the consequences of a crime that neither of them committed. Sansa knew that he, as much as anyone, grew used to her courtesies in King’s Landing. Did he wish to hear her recite them now?

“We both escaped in the end,” Sansa said, looking at him once more.

Tyrion peered back, seeing the challenge in her eyes. The silent dare for him to request an apology.

“That we did,” he said with a nod, as if he knew better than to demand anything of her. “And now we are here.”

“Now we are here,” Sansa repeated, nodding once before glancing away.

Several beats of silence passed before Tyrion spoke again.

“I must thank you for intervening in favor of my brother. I know that can’t have been easy.”

Sansa pressed her lips together, keeping her face turned away from him. She felt confident in her ability to lie yet did not dare to underestimate Tyrion’s cleverness. If he saw even a sliver of her thoughts written upon her face or suspected why she truly decided to offer Ser Jaime the protection of Winterfell, then he might just carry his suspicions right to the queen that he served.

“As Jon said, we need every man that we can get,” Sansa said diplomatically.

“I am grateful all the same,” Tyrion said, sounding genuine.

She nodded once, clasping her hands tighter.

“You might want to keep him at a fair distance from your queen,” she advised, turning to face him. “Enough blood will be shed in the coming days.”

A look of consideration and appreciation crossed Tyrion’s face.

“You’ve grown into this role quite well, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Sansa offered him a mild smile, dropping her hands to her skirts.

“I had many teachers,” she said simply.

He didn’t protest as she walked by, leaving him alone to stand in a place where he would never belong.

*****

Sansa was hardly surprised to see Brienne hovering outside of her chambers but the wary look on her sworn shield’s face gave her pause as she drew near.

“I told him to ask for an audience with you,” the other woman huffed, her hand clasping over the pommel of her sword. “He insisted, my lady.”

Sansa gave her a puzzled look before stepping around her. As soon as she spotted the man sitting in one of the chairs close to her hearth, she wondered if the Lannister brothers intended to give her any peace that day at all.

“Ser Jaime.”

He glanced up, his eyes darting over her as he stood.

“Lady Stark,” Jaime said, lowering himself into a bow.

She did not allow him a curtsy, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. That he would dare to enter the Lady of Winterfell’s chambers without her permission was rather audacious. Sansa wondered if he learned such behavior from a familiarity with his sister, yet dismissed the thoughts as quickly as they’d come. He came north, cleary against Cersei’s wishes. His misdeeds were countless but he chose right when it mattered, if his intentions were true.

“Are you discontent with our hospitality?” Sansa asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Not at all,” he said, a strange look of amusement crossing his face. “It’s been brought to my attention that I should show my gratitude for your intervention.”

Brienne sighed heavily from the doorway.

“I did not mean at this very moment,” she said, exasperation clear in her voice.

Sansa glanced between them, feeling the oddest urge to laugh when it had been so long since she did so.

“If your brother is to be believed, there is very little time to waste,” Jaime said, sounding all too jovial when discussing the possibility of their doom. “You have my humblest thanks, my lady. Your favor is far from deserved and I will do my best to live up to whatever expectations you have of me.”

Her eyes narrowed as she took him in, so different from the man that first rode into Winterfell all those years ago.

“It would be rather foolish of me to expect much at all from a Lannister,” Sansa said, daring him to argue. “But I recognize that it must have been difficult for you to ride north in opposition to your sister’s wishes. Jon will not thank you but I feel that I must.”

Jaime didn’t say anything, taking her in as if he suddenly saw her in a new light.

“Once I rename my sword, I’d like to pledge it to your service,” he said, taking her completely by surprise. “I made a vow to your mother long ago and I intend to keep to it. I think it would sit well with her to see me protecting her daughter.”

Sansa stared at him with wide eyes, quite unsure as to what she should say. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the same shock written across Brienne’s face. She hadn’t expected it either. Pressing her lips together and swallowing hard, Sansa let the prospect settle in her mind before deciding what to say.

“I value truth above all,” she said, looking into his eyes. “If you swear yourself to me, I will expect it of you.”

Jaime nodded his head, looking almost impressed.

“That is a vow easily given.”

“I would not say such a thing too soon, Ser Jaime,” Sansa said, crossing the room to take a seat before the fire before gesturing for him to take the other. “I would like to begin now.”

“What do you wish to know?” he asked once he settled in his seat. “Something about Cersei, I assume?”

Sansa shook her head as she folded her hands over the armests of her chair. That would come with time. Cersei wasn’t the most immediate threat.

“I wish to know everything that you do about Daenerys Targaryen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'd love to hear what you think of it!
> 
> I know that Jon is a bit hard to swallow in these first few chapters but I promise there are good things afoot. Let's just say that he's walking a fine line and trying to hold everything together while protecting those that he loves. *cough* Sansa *cough*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I love you all! I can't believe that this fic is officially over 11k hits and 700 kudos! You are all absolutely amazing!
> 
> You also might hate me after this chapter, every single one of you. I'm just saying that you shouldn't keep reading if you are a Dany stan. I don't dislike her but I'm taking this fic down the path where I think her character is going. Admitting that a character can have negative development does not equal disliking or hating them. Not all characters that start as protagonists end that way. Just a warning.

If it weren’t for the chair that she pushed, her path through Winterfell would have been silent. But Arya refused to leave Bran’s side if she could help it. There were too many variables. Too many people in the castle that she Wdidn’t trust. He was far too important to leave unguarded. So she remained at his side, no matter where he went. No one had to tell her to do it. Even Bran, the tiniest sliver that was still himself, seemed curious about it, though he did not voice it.

“Do you see anything?” she asked quietly, casting her eyes around to ensure their words could not be heard. “About her? The queen?”

“I see many things,” Bran said, keeping his hands folded in his lap over the blanket that covered his legs.

Arya fought the urge to snap that this was not the time for vague speech. Their days were numbered when it came to the fighting and she had to protect her family. She had to protect the North, just like Sansa. Only she didn’t know who to protect it from first. The Night King? Cersei? Daenerys?

“Her people are loyal,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s not like Joffrey. They believe in her.”

“Nothing lasts.”

Bran’s voice sounded off and Arya suspected that he wasn’t using his own words.

“What about Sansa? Do you see anything about her?”

“She doesn’t like me looking.”

Arya rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to sigh heavily as they neared the Great Hall where everyone would be gathering to sup together.

“What does it matter if it keeps her safe?” she hissed out quietly.

Another long moment passed as a guard opened a door, stepping aside to let them through. She wheeled him towards the head table, narrowing her eyes at the sight of Daenerys standing there with two of her advisors. Jorah Mormont and a woman from Naath. Missandei. Arya remembered her name from Tyrion Lannister’s introductions. Jon stood there as well, a dark look on his face as he showed his back to the Targaryen woman.

“No one can keep anyone safe,” Bran said as she stopped him close enough to the table so that he could eat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Arya saw Jon flinch at the words. She glanced his way and saw that his eyes were wide as he stared at Bran.

“How-”

His words were cut off when they all saw someone approach. Glancing forward, they watched as Brienne made her way towards them before bowing. Arya couldn’t help but see the paleness on her face as well as the fury that burned in the depths of her blue eyes. It seemed to be aimed at Jon, which hardly made sense. Unless she knew of Sansa’s condition and how it came to be. Brienne was more protective of her than anything or anyone.

“Lady Stark sends her regrets,” Brienne said, lifting her chin as if she dared someone to argue. “She feels unwell and seeks rest in the confines of her chambers.”

Jon twitched as if he was moments away from walking out but Arya caught his eye and shook her head. They couldn’t let anyone see their alarm. If Sansa was suffering, she would call on them. Otherwise, they couldn’t risk calling attention to any sickness she may have.

“Give your lady our best wishes,” Daenerys said diplomatically, a forced smile upon her lips.

There was the briefest hesitation in how Brienne turned to face her, simply bowing her head before backing away. As much as she wanted to demand specifics, Arya knew that this was neither the time nor the place. As she watched Brienne take a place between Ser Davos and Jaime Lannister, Arya couldn’t help but watch with narrowed eyes as the Lannister and Sansa’s sworn shield conferred quietly.

“It’s not an illness,” Bran said quietly once they all sat.

Arya and Jon, the only two who could hear his words, both looked his way.

“What does that mean?”

Jon’s words were hissed out, showing his frustration at being trapped there. Bran turned his head, meeting Jon’s gaze without flinching. He never did these days, the distant look in his eyes unnerving even to Arya.

“She knows the truth.”

Jon visibly flinched as Arya’s own agitation grew.

“What truth?” she demanded, looking between them.

Though neither answered, she couldn’t miss the way that Jon glanced towards Daenerys. It was all that she needed to know.

_Nothing lasts._

There was something that Jon wasn’t telling them about his Targaryen queen. Something that Sansa now knew. And as Arya glanced around and saw Brienne still sharing a quiet conversation with the Kingslayer, she wondered if Jaime Lannister might have shared something with Sansa. After all, he was the only one in the room to fight against Daenerys and her dragons. What secrets might he hold? What could he share with Sansa that would make Jon grow as pale as he looked?

Arya did not yet know, but she intended to find out.

*****

She lay curled on her side when the door to her bedchamber opened, admitting the one person she needed to see more than anyone. He also happened to be the one person she couldn’t bear to look at. Her hand pressed over her stomach through the thin fabric of her nightshift, feeling the slight roundness that she’d managed to hide up until now with properly laced dresses and draping cloaks. Her body shuddered when she felt the bed dip with the weight of another person, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to tamp down the emotions that rose in her chest.

A part of her hoped that absenting herself from the evening meal might give her more time. But she should have known that he wouldn’t leave her be. Try as she might, and though she was more angry at him than ever, she knew that Jon was a good man. He had a good heart and he wouldn’t ignore her if he thought that something was amiss. Especially knowing that she carried his child. He hadn’t quite acknowledged it yet but the awareness was there. Yet knowing that his heart was good didn’t help assuage her anger.

“A good queen,” Sansa whispered, flexing her hand over her midsection. “For us all.”

“Sansa…”

“Did you know when you brought her here?”

She pushed up to sit, brushing her hair away from her face before tilting her head to look at him. Jon stared back at her through the darkness, the room illuminated only by the moonlight that shone through her windows. His lips remained sealed, his eyes darting about her face as if he was trying to figure out what she meant. Sansa felt exposed, her hair unbound and the sleeve of her shift slipping down her shoulder. Jon’s eyes didn’t waver from her face, his gaze intense and yet giving away nothing of his thoughts.

Sansa knew that a woman’s emotions could be rather overwhelming when she was with child but she could hardly believe how easy it was for tears to spring to her eyes. Even now, she couldn’t fight them. Not when she knew the answer to her question. Jon was no fool, which only left one option. He lied to her. Yet still he did not speak, making her frustration rise. Reaching out, she took hold of his hand and brought it close to her, ignoring his gasp of surprise as she pressed his palm over her stomach.

“This is ours,” she hissed, staring into his eyes.

Jon’s eyes dropped to his hand, his lips parting slightly as she felt his warmth seeping through her shift, causing her heart to race as she pressed her hand over his.

“Look me in the eyes with your hand held here and tell me that you think she will be a good queen. Swear to me on the life of our child.”

He exhaled slowly and shakily, his eyes falling closed.

“We need her.”

Sansa pressed her lips together, trapping a sob in her throat.

“She burned them,” she said quietly, letting him hear what she knew. “Soldiers, horses, prisoners of war. Sam Tarly’s own father and brother. _Your_ friend. There were wagons of food. Winter is here and she turned food to ashes. Did you know that?”

Jon jerked his head in a nod.

“Sam… he told me.”

Sansa’s lower lip quivered and she lifted her free hand, pressing it over his cheek as he kept his head lowered.

“She _burned_ them,” she said, her voice breaking.

She felt a drop of wetness hit her hand and her heart sank at the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes.

“I know,” he said, his voice so quiet that she could barely hear him.

“Jon,” Sansa pleaded, pushing at his face until he finally lifted his head. “What are you doing?”

He met her eyes, his emotions laid bare for the first time since he came back to Winterfell. Sansa could see everything. All the fear and anger and worry that he’d been hiding away.

“Whatever it takes,” he confessed.

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat as she swept her thumb over his cheek, hearing something so achingly familiar in his words. A desperation that pulled a long buried memory from the depths of her mind.

_“She’ll be a good queen.”_

She thought the words meant something else. A hint at deeper feelings that he possessed for Daenerys Targaryen. Now that she turned them over in her mind, she felt something far different.

_“I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.”_

Sansa’s heart felt on the brink of shattering. She’d told Jon of her time in King’s Landing in the time they spent traveling through the North, trying to find allies that would help them take back Winterfell from Ramsay. She told him about the cloak of courtesies she surrounded herself. About the words she used to satisfy others. Whatever it took to see her as no threat to them. Whatever it took to stay alive.

Whatever it took.

“Oh,” she breathed, the realization nearly crushing her.

Sansa lifted her other hand, cupping his face as she watched him, needing nothing more than to look. She knew the truth now. That he lied not to shield his love for Daenerys but to protect those that he did love. To protect her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sansa asked, tears welling in her eyes once more.

Jon stared at her helplessly, his shoulders dropping as if some great burden eased at her words.

“How could I?” he asked, his hand trembling as he lifted it to brush her hair away from her face. “Once you told me about… how could I do anything to put you in danger? Or Arya or Bran or… or our child.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in close as she let out a sob. Jon held her tightly, his face buried in her hair and his arms a vice around her waist. He held her as if he couldn’t imagine ever letting go, pouring every emotion he’d kept locked away for days. Perhaps even months. Sansa wondered how he bore it on his own yet knew that it was possible, for she did it on her own as well.

“I feared that she had you in her grasp,” Sansa admitted, clutching at him desperately. “That she sought to take you and the North both.”

“She would,” Jon said, his breath hot against her neck. “If I let her.”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.

“No,” she said, letting the single word hang in the air between

Jon pressed a kiss to her throat, causing unrestrained desire to burst forth in her chest. Sansa shivered and gasped as the heat of his body suddenly felt scorching. She pressed herself ever closer, disentangling her legs from the furs and arranging herself until she straddled his lap and pulled away to look in his eyes. Sansa could see the same desire reflected in his dark gaze and she wanted nothing more than to strip away every barrier that stood between them.

Yet she did not feel slighted when he brushed the softest of kisses over her lips before nudging her to lie back. Sansa watched as he pulled the furs away from her, his eyes taking her in fully before dropping to her midsection. Her breath caught in her throat as he reached out, lowering himself to press his forehead over her stomach as his hands gently took hold of her hips.

“I didn’t-” he cut off, letting out a trembling breath. “It hasn’t felt real.”

Sansa let her head fall against the pillow, pulling the tie from his hair to run her fingers through it.

“It is real,” she said, almost breathless as she spoke. “It is real and it is _ours._ ”

Jon swallowed hard and she could sense the realization finally set in, though she could not see his face.

“I never thought-” he cut off, sighing heavily. “This is never what I intended.”

“Nor I,” Sansa said, ignoring her aching need for more. “Yet it is happening all the same.”

She felt the slightest pressure of a kiss through her shift and sank her teeth into her lower lip, the tender intimacy almost too much for her to bear.

“I shouldn’t have stayed away,” Jon admitted, turning his head to lay his cheek over her stomach. “I thought you might hate me. It would be well within your rights.”

Sansa let her eyes fall closed, shaking her head though she knew he could not see her.

“I don’t think that I can,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

Neither of them spoke for a long stretch of time, lying there with his head pillowed upon her stomach until he let out a sigh and moved, her hands falling away as he sat up.

“Sansa,” Jon said warily, something in his voice that made her stomach twist. “If I die-”

Her eyes snapped open and she pushed up on her elbows, meeting his gaze with alarm in her own.

“You mustn’t,” Sansa said, as if she could prevent it from happening merely with her words.

He stared at her sadly.

“You and I both know it may happen,” Jon said.

She shook her head, refusing to hear of it.

“I’ll not have it, Jon,” Sansa said, trying to keep her emotions at bay. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“I will do everything that I can.”

Though she hated it, Sansa knew that was all that he could promise.

“If I die, you cannot tell anyone that I fathered this child,” he said, a layer of desperation in his words.

Sansa pressed her lips together, shaking her head again.

“This-” she cut off as her voice broke. “If that happens… this child will be all that I have left of you. You want me to lie about it?”

Jon reached out, grasping her hand in his.

“You must,” he said solemnly.

Sansa wanted to badly to refuse. To scream and shout that it wasn’t right. That she shouldn’t have to do it. But she knew that he was right. For what this child represented, for the blood that would be in his or her veins, the world could not know or else they would never have peace. Sitting up, she freed her hand from Jon’s grip only to press her palm over his cheek.

“No more,” she said, locking her eyes with his. “Not tonight, please.”

Jon held her gaze, searching for something. Whatever he found, it must have made up his mind because he was kissing her without another beat of hesitation. Sansa gasped against his lips but responded eagerly in the next moment, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jon kissed her as if they had no time to waste, consuming her completely as she arched up into him. He lowered her down onto the mattress, his hands bracing on either side of her. She let him into the cradle of her hips, wrapping a leg around him. Jon ground his hips against hers, pulling a whine from deep in her throat as she gripped at his hair. As he kissed his way down to her throat, she tilted her head back and rocked against him.

“I meant it truly,” he whispered, dropping kisses over her heated skin. “I missed you, Sansa.”

She felt her heart swell at his words, her body aching for more. For his skin against hers, his fingers and lips exploring her, his cock inside of her. Sansa let the words fall from her lips, pulling a groan from him as his hands grappled with her shift. She did her best to help him, bringing her arms up over her head and sighing with relief when it was off and tossed away. Jon didn’t hesitate to begin kissing her anywhere he could find, making her tremble and moan as he explored her slowly.

“I missed you,” she whispered, cradling his head to her chest as he trailed his lips over the valley between her breasts.

Jon tipped his head to the right, capturing her nipple in his mouth and teasing at it with his teeth and tongue. Sansa let out a keening noise, arching up and tugging at his hair. Jon’s hand went to her other breast, kneading it and flicking his thumb over her nipple, sending small shocks of pleasure running through her. Her hands yanked at his tunic and he pulled away to divest himself of it, filling her with relief as she eagerly explored his skin with her touch. Then he began kissing his way further down, her body shaking with need as he kissed over her stomach.

“She’ll look like you,” he murmured.

Sansa’s eyes fluttered open.

“She?” she whispered, hope flaring in her chest.

“Aye,” he said, stroking his lips over her navel. “With your hair and your eyes.”

She shook her head, lifting her hips as he untied the ribbons on her smallclothes.

“Your eyes,” Sansa said, her heart beating quickly. “I love your eyes.”

Jon exhaled against her skin before carefully shouldering her thighs apart. It wasn’t until he hitched her leg over his shoulder that Sansa realized his intent.

“Jon,” she gasped, starting to push herself up.

Then his fingers parted her folds and he blew lightly over her center, the odd sensation making her jerk and inhale sharply.

“Beautiful,” Jon said, awe in his voice.

“This isn’t… isn’t proper,” Sansa breathed out, although she couldn’t bring herself to push him away.

Jon’s tongue swept a teasing stripe over her folds, causing any further argument to die on her lips.

“Don’t give a damn about proper,” he said.

Then he laid one hand over her hip and began licking at her earnestly. Sansa slapped a hand over her mouth, knowing that she could not be heard crying out his name. The feeling was all too intense, especially when he teased at her clit and slowly pressed a finger into her. She felt as if she might catch flame on the spot, sweat clinging to her temples as she lifted her hips to his mouth, silently pleading for more. She had never experienced anything quite like it and judging by his enthusiasm, Jon relished in each and every reaction she gave.

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered out, letting her hand fall away from her mouth. “Gods, Jon… it-it’s so… so good… so much…”

“You taste good, sweet girl,” he murmured, pressing a second finger into her. “So good for me.”

Sansa nodded, ecstasy carrying her far away from any discomfort.

“All for you,” she said, knowing there was no one else she wanted like this, nor would there ever be.

Jon dragged the flat of his tongue up the length of her before relentlessly flicking the tip of it over her clit as he curled his fingers inside of her.

“Oh gods,” Sansa cried out, one hand gripping at his hair as she pinched and rolled her nipple between her finger and thumb.

He seemed almost frenzied, licking and sucking at her as if she was the sweetest kind of fruit. Sansa felt the coil in her lower belly grow tighter and tighter, her toes curling as her peak quickly approached. She couldn’t form words if she tried, nonsense noises falling from her lips as she arched her back, taut as a bowstring. Then it released, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her as she writhed beneath him. Jon didn’t let up, driving her to the brink of sobbing as she rocked against his mouth until it all became too much to bear.

Sansa pushed at his shoulders with a groan of his name, falling back against the bed bonelessly when he finally relented. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watched as he wiped the back of his mouth and bent over to drop kisses to her overheated skin. All the way up her chest and throat until he claimed her lips again. Sansa kissed him eagerly, tasting herself on his lips as her body tingled with satisfaction and yet a driving need for more. She dropped her hands to his breeches, pulling at his laces with no grace or patience.

“Now,” she said, the word nearly swallowed by his kiss. “I need-I need you.”

Jon leaned away from her, shucking his boots and breeches so quickly that he nearly tumbled from the bed. Sansa bit her lip to keep from laughing, reaching out to take his hand as she tugged him back up to her. Jon reached down, slipping his hand beneath her knee only to hitch it over his hip. Sansa pulled him down for a kiss, her moan muffled as he pressed into her slowly. It almost felt better than the first time, her body accepting him easily. Jon tore his lips away to growl out her name, the sound of it reverberating through her. His pace picked up quickly and Sansa pressed her mouth to his shoulder to muffle her moans and grunts, her hands gripping at his back. A hiss passed through his lips as her nails dug into his skin, urging him on to take her harder and faster.

“I won’t break,” Sansa promised him, tilting her head to whisper into his ear. “Take me, Jon. Make me yours.”

He turned his head, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. Sansa pressed a hand over his lower back, the roll and pull of his muscles beneath his skin almost erotic on its own. She barely noticed his hand snaking between them until his fingers brushed over her clit, pulling a gasping moan from her lips. Sansa still felt almost overstimulated but her body craved his touch there, lifting her high towards another peak. She nodded as he shot her a questioning look, silently asking if she was okay.

“More,” she said hoarsely.

Jon didn’t disappoint, rubbing at her clit as he thrusted into her at an even pace. Their gasps and moans mingled in the air, cut through by the occasional whine or growl until she felt on the edge of falling again.

“I love you.”

Sansa’s eyes flew open and she turned her head, meeting Jon’s gaze. He didn’t falter and he didn’t look away, staring down at her.

“I have for-for quite some time,” he said, sounding breathless. “I love you, Sansa.”

She reached up, cupping his face in her hands.

“Jon,” Sansa murmured, a smile pulling at her lips.

He stared at her with wonder, as if he couldn’t quite believe that she was there. Pulling him down once more, she claimed his lips for her own and poured every single drop of affection and love that she could into the kiss. If he didn’t understand after that, she didn’t know how else to show him that she felt the same. All that was left to do was say it.

“I love you.”

Jon’s hips stuttered and his breath caught in his throat.

“I love you,” Sansa said it again, needing him to know. “My Jon.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, heat surrounding them and chasing away any cold as they moved as one.

“Yours,” Jon promised.

His fingers rubbed quicker at her clit, bringing her closer and closer to utter and complete bliss until she sank her teeth into her lower lip so hard that it drew blood as a scream rose in her throat. Pleasure washed over her once more as she felt his hips surge quicker, bringing him to his own peak as he buried his face in her throat. Sansa held him close as they came down, their breaths harsh and unsteady as he relaxed into her embrace. She couldn’t hold back, pressing kisses to his hair.

When he finally rolled away, Sansa felt the ache of his loss until he arranged her on her side and pulled the furs over them. He tucked her back against his chest, their bodies aligned as he pressed his hand lightly over the swell of her stomach. Sansa laid her hand over his, feeling more content than she had in ages. Held this close by someone that she loved and trusted above all. It was indescribable. It came as no surprise to her when tears filled her eyes yet again.

“You’re crying,” Jon said, though she tried her best to quiet her sniffle.

Sansa waved him off, shaking her head.

“I cry over everything these days,” she said.

He let out the smallest huff of amusement, pressing a kiss to her temple. Neither of them fell asleep as they laid there, both wanting to cling to this moment.

“Tell me that we can stay here forever,” Sansa whispered after a long time. “That we never have to leave this room and face the world. That our life will pass by just like this. Promise me, Jon.”

He didn’t say anything at first, skimming his lips lightly over her shoulder.

“I promise,” Jon finally said.

Sansa let her eyes fall closed. She knew it was a lie. They both did. But as they laid there, they could dream. That had to be enough for now. Then a knock came on the door and interrupted everything. Jon drew the furs up higher over their bodies, his body tensing as if he was ready to flee. Sansa felt alarm rise in her chest, fearing that the Dragon Queen stood on the other side of the door. But when it opened without either of them saying a word, they breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Arya standing there. Then they saw the look in her eyes, chasing away any annoyance or disgust she might feel at finding the two of them in bed with no clothing.

“Come on,” she said, her voice grave as she held the pommel of her sword. “Something’s happened.”

Sansa and Jon exchanged a look, fear striking at their hearts in tandem. Arya turned her back as they scrambled from the bed, Jon dressing in his clothes and Sansa quickly donning a simple woolen dress that laced in the front. She didn’t even bother reaching for her cloak or pulling her hair away from her face, following after Arya with Jon close on her heels. Arya moved quickly, the rigid set to her shoulders filling them with more and more trepidation until they found themselves in the Great Hall.

It was mostly empty, only Ser Davos and Brienne there with a few commonfolk that neither of them knew. Sansa studied the one woman among them. The tear-tracks on her cheeks pulled at her heart and she somehow felt as if the world would collapse from beneath her feet at any moment. Ser Davos stared at the ground as Brienne looked anywhere else, along with the other men.

“What’s happened?” Jon said, glancing between them all.

“Milady,” the woman choked out, taking a stumbling step forward.

Brienne moved to stand between them but Sansa waved her off.

“What is it?” she asked, allowing the woman to grasp her hands.

“He liked to wander the fields and the woods,” the woman said, her hands as cold as ice and her body trembling. “I thought nothing of it when he didn’t show for supper. He always finds his way home in the end.”

Sansa felt her fear grow stronger in the pit of her stomach and she almost wanted to stop the woman. Jon staggered to her left, his hand searching for something to hold and finding nothing. Sansa didn’t want to look down. If she did, it would be true. She didn’t want it to be true.

“He climbed everything, like Lord Bran used to do,” the woman said, tears spilling from her dark brown eyes. “He loved it, milady. He loved the North.”

Sansa shook her head, trying to pull her hands away. Anything to escape this. She couldn’t look down. She couldn’t, she couldn’t, she couldn’t.

But she did.

The woman must have done the same, for a wail passed through her lips as she sunk to her knees next to the blanket. Sansa felt her chest tighten as her breathing picked up, passing through her lips in short gasps as she lifted her hands to her mouth. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

_“What do dragons even eat?”_

She’d posed the question in the first meeting between the Northerners and Daenerys’ company. She needed to know, if they were going to find a way to feed them. Daenerys took it as a slight, passing a glare her way as soon as she spoke her answers.

_“Whatever they want.”_

Sansa stared down, her mind repeating the words again and again. Whatever they want. Whatever they want. Whatever they want.

A child.

_She burned them._

All at once, everything grew dark. Sansa distantly felt strong arms catch her as her body slumped. Then she knew nothing else. Nothing but the three words that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Whatever they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if you are screaming at me right now, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all just blow me away. I can't even describe how grateful and full of love I am for all of you that read, comment, kudos, and bookmark this fic. I'm floored. I love you all so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Sansa came to slowly, dragging herself from the dark dredges of her mind as everything came back to her in pieces. A wailing mother. A burnt child. Brienne catching her as she fell, succumbing to unconsciousness as her mind deemed the entire situation too overwhelming to handle. Sansa felt the cushion of a mattress beneath her and somehow knew that she was in her own bedchamber. As she tried to start, panic took hold in her chest as she found herself unable to sit up. It took a brief moment for her to realize that it wasn’t her own limbs that were weighing her down, but the pressure of something lying over her stomach.

As she reached up, her hands were met with coarse fur and, after a moment, the cold, nudging nose of the direwolf that shared her bed. A sigh of relief slipped from her lips as she scratched at Ghost’s ears, slowly blinking her eyes until the ceiling of her chamber came into view. The flickering flame of a nearby candle told her that it was still nighttime, for no other light filled the chamber. Ghost lifted his head as Sansa slowly sat up, her body aching from head to toe. Sansa’s eyes felt swollen from all her tears, her mouth dry and her throat raw. She let herself collapse into Ghost, grateful when he didn’t even flinch as she sought comfort in his steady warmth.

Then she heard it. Low voices muffled by the door of her bedchamber. Sansa’s chest grew tight, knowing who must be gathered in her solar. Her body protested each movement she made but she still forced herself up from the bed, entirely unsurprised when Ghost leapt off to follow her. He kept at her side as she pulled her down open with a creak, every in her solar turning upon her. Jon and Arya stood side-by-side, so alike in their coloring. Bran was next to the fire, his eyes distant as always. Both Lannister brothers were in attendance, much to her surprise, as well as Brienne, Davos, and Varys.

“My lady,” Tyrion said, almost looking surprised at her appearance.

Sansa wondered if she looked so terrible.

“You should be resting,” Jon said.

Glancing his way, Sansa saw a deeply haunted look in his eye, though it didn’t take away from the concern there as well. She had the sense that if prying eyes were not looking upon them, he would cross to her side without a second thought.

“She needs to hear this,” Arya countered, a scowl forming on her face. “They just finished telling us that it’s happened before, in Essos.”

Sansa’s eyes grew wide, all trace of exhaustion fading away as she glanced between Daenerys’ advisors.

“And you didn’t think to warn us of it?” she demanded.

“None of us were there,” Tyrion said, a tired look written upon his face.

“That excuses nothing,” Arya shot back. “The boy’s name was Ethan. He’s lived in Winter Town all his life. Do you know the name of the last one?”

Silence answered her question, making it quite clear. Sansa braced a hand against the doorway, a sick feeling stirring in the pit of her stomach.

“Where is the mother?” she asked, remembering how the woman gripped at her hands so desperately. 

“Resting in a chamber here,” Jon said quietly.

“Your maester was kind enough to offer her a sleeping draught,” Tyrion said, as if it would ease Sansa’s mind.

Sansa looked at him, shock filling her at his words.

“And is her door guarded by the queen’s men?” she questioned, pushing forward with Ghost at her side meeting her step-for-step.

“Of course it is,” Ser Jaime finally spoke up, a hidden reproachment in his voice that was undoubtedly aimed at his brother. “For her own safety, of course. The woman must be mad with grief.”

Sansa looked to Jon, who wouldn’t meet her gaze now. She knew that he blamed himself and expected that she would blame him as well. She might have, before she knew what he did to get Daenerys Targaryen here. As she looked to Tyrion and Varys, a cold realization struck at her mind. There was no reason for their presence unless they were there to act as the queen’s stand-ins, to ensure peace before the war.

”And your queen?”

Tyrion and Varys exchanged a wary look.

”She left through the gates as soon as word reached her,” Tyrion said.

Undoubtedly to seek out her dragons. Her children, they said. Leaving her advisors to handle the fallout.

“You want to keep this quiet,” Sansa said, realizing their purpose in hiding the mother of the child away. “If the people find out…”

“Everything would fall apart,” Tyrion said with a grave nod. “I very much doubt that any of us in this room wants that.”

She let her eyes dart between him and Varys, wondering why the latter hadn’t said a word. There was a blank look upon his face, though something like consideration in his eyes as he gazed at a spot on the wall instead of any person.

“What about justice? Or do you consider this a debt that should go unpaid?” Arya asked mockingly.

Sansa closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she leaned on Ghost for comfort. There was too much to consider. A veritable spider’s web that could fall apart if a single thread was snipped in two. She couldn’t follow her gut, nor her heart. Both screamed for the same justice she could hear in her sister’s voice. That someone must answer for the death of a child. But she allowed her mind to take over, knowing that sense had to win out right now.

“When the war is over-”

“You will have your silence, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said, opening her eyes to fix her gaze upon him as she ignored Arya’s protesting scoff.

Tyrion looked relieved, angling his body as if he’d step towards her. Ghost moved quicker than the blink of an eye, positioning himself between them and baring his teeth in a silent snarl that made his position quite clear. Tyrion stilled, swallowing hard as his eyes darted from Sansa to Ghost and back.

“Thank you, Lady Stark.”

Sansa fought the urge to snap that she did not do it for him, but for the whole of the North. As much as it would eat away at her, Sansa had to think to the future and her people would be better served by keeping this quiet until after the war for humanity was won. But she would not offer him any polite words. His gratitude meant little to her at the moment.

“We will not forget,” she promised.

Tyrion stared at her, a long stretch of silence filling the air around them as she stared back. No one else in the room so much as moved, sensing the tension that built. Then Tyrion nodded slowly, signaling his understanding. Sansa felt relieved as he turned away, clearly sensing that the time had come to leave. Varys followed behind him but didn’t leave before casting a brief glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on Sansa for a moment before he left.

To her surprise, the others began to file out as well. Jon was the only one to remain where he stood, his hands braced on her table and his head bowed. Even Arya crossed the room, her hand still gripping the pommel of her sword. When she hesitated at the door, Sansa steeled herself for whatever she might say, swallowing hard when her sister’s eyes met hers.

“What do you think Father would have done?” Arya wondered.

Sansa exhaled slowly, shaking her head.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

With a troubled look crossing her face, Arya sighed heavily and turned away.

“Neither do I,” she murmured before walking out.

Once the door shut, Sansa let out a soft, harsh sigh and turned towards Jon only for him to take two quick strides towards her. She let him gather her close, burying her face in his neck as she clutched at him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, his voice hitching. “Gods Sansa, I-I’m so sorry.”

Sansa could hear the misery in his voice and knew that her assumptions were right. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she shook her head as she trapped the urge to cry in her throat. There would be no more tears. Not if she had to get them through this. So she steeled herself and pulled away, cradling Jon’s face in her hands.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, staring into his eyes. “You couldn’t have known.”

Jon closed his eyes, his lips pressed together tightly and his face as pale as it had ever been. Sansa knew that he didn’t quite believe her. That he felt he should have anticipated something like this. Sansa wanted to share her grief with him. To scream out her anger and rise above the helplessness she felt.

“There will be time to grapple with all of this later,” she said, forcing Jon to meet her gaze once more. “For now, we have to figure out how to move forward. We are on the brink of war and we can’t lose sight of that.”

Jon nodded, knowing better than anyone why this war was so important.

“If Daenerys doesn’t return…”

Sansa took a deep breath, knowing that possibility was far from ideal. Her dragons and her people made her useful in this war. Without the dragons and without her around to command her armies, what would they do against the Night King when he came?

“We have to prepare for the possibility that she may not return,” Sansa said, pulling away from him to walk towards the fire. “Jorah Mormont and the leader of her Unsullied forces remain.”

“Grey Worm,” Jon offered, stepping up to her side as she reached her hands out to warm them.

“If they can command her forces, can you figure out a battle plan that doesn’t include dragons?” Sansa asked, looking over at him.

His jaw worked as he considered it.

“We’d need fire.”

“Archers on the battlements with flaming arrows,” Sansa suggested.

“And trenches lined with pitch and wood,” Jon said thoughtfully. “If we can lure the wights into them…”

He trailed off but she could picture it well enough.

“For once, I wish I might have learned to wield a bow and arrow so that I might prove useful,” Sansa quipped.

Jon’s head snapped towards her.

“You’ll be in the crypts,” he said.

Sansa tilted her head towards him more gracefully, arching one eyebrow his way.

“I’ll be with my people,” she said simply.

Jon turned to face her fully, a deep frown forming on his face.

“You’ve been useful,” he said, his voice just slightly louder. “You’ve fed and clothed the people of the North. You’ve provided armor and weapons to countless soldiers and you’ve housed dozens of lords in Winterfell without even completing repairs. You’ve been more than useful.”

“What kind of leader would I be if I hid away while my people die?”

“This isn’t just you we are talking about.”

“I have every right to decide-“

“Dammit, Sansa, could you let go of your pride for just one moment and admit that the best place for you and our child is in the crypts?”

Sansa started at Jon with wide eyes, quite unable to believe that he’d shouted at her. His chest heaved as he stared back, regret quickly overtaking his expression.

“My pride?” she repeated, lifting her chin.

“Please just-“

“Damn you, Jon Snow.”

Sansa whirled away from him, crossing her solar in quick steps. She tried to slam the door of her bedchamber behind her but he caught it all too easily. Ghost slipped in with him, leaping onto the end of the bed to lie down. Sansa wondered if he simply did not see a threat in Jon that he felt no need to defend her even with all the shouting.

“Do you ever tire of fighting?” Jon demanded.

“I know little else!”

Sansa turned to face him, pressing both hands over her middle.

“I’m not like you or Arya. I haven’t been wielding swords and killing foes but I’ve fought all the same,” she said heatedly. “Since the day Father was murdered before my eyes, I have clawed my way through life. I have done whatever I must simply to survive. I have been fighting, one way or another, for _years_. Forgive me if I’ve forgotten how to soften myself. I do not yield, Jon. I would have thought you’d learned that by now.”

“Our child-“

“Will be edged with steel and filled with strength the day they come into this world, if I have anything to say about it.”

“They will not have the chance if you aren’t bloody careful,” Jon hissed.

“I know my limits. You need not repeat them to me,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Clearly I do!”

Sansa glowered at Jon and he scowled back, neither willing to give an inch until she felt a tug of exhaustion at the edge of her consciousness. With a soft sigh, she sank onto the edge of her bed and bent forward, pressing her face into her hands. It took a moment for her to feel the bed dip beside her, Jon’s hand pressing over her back.

“It’s too much,” he said quietly.

Sansa couldn’t help but agree. Sitting up slowly, she brushed her hair from her face and inhaled deeply before looking over at him. The same bone-deep exhaustion she felt was written across his face. He needed rest as much as she and yet they weren’t going to be granted much of it in the coming days and weeks.

“I am not the girl you knew when we were children,” Sansa told him, a grave sound to her voice. “I am not even the girl that came to you at Castle Black.”

Jon hesitated for a moment before nodding his head.

“I don’t need to be told that.”

Sansa took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, reaching over to clasp her hand over his.

“I won’t cower,” she said, earning a deep sigh from this man that she loved. “But I won’t endanger myself or our child either. I will remain on the battlements with our people until the fighting reaches the trenches. Then I will go to the crypts and lock myself away with the rest.”

Jon looked wary, clearly not liking the idea of her being on the battlements during the fight at all. Yet he knew it was his best option and that denying it could only start them fighting once more.

“Will you remain close to Arya, at least?” he asked wearily.

The smallest of smiles pulled at Sansa’s lips as she nodded her head.

“I doubt she’d allow me to stand anywhere else,” she admitted.

Jon looked far from please, though the concession made him sit with a little less stiffness in his shoulders.

“We’ll have to find a way to lure the Night King in somewhere,” he said thoughtfully.

Sansa sighed, rising to her feet only to begin plucking at the laces of her dress.

“A strategy you can easily devise in the daylight,” she said tiredly, letting the dress fall from her shoulders and pool on the ground.

She didn’t bother to pick it up, stumbling to the bed and lying with her head on the pillow.

“Don’t leave,” she said, sensing Jon’s uncertainty.

A few long moments passed before she heard him shuffling about. The thud of his boots hitting the ground eased her stress and once she felt the bed shift with his weight, she scooted towards him to mold herself to his side, her head on his bare chest with his arm wrapped about her shoulders.

“This is dangerous,” he acknowledged quietly.

Sansa resisted the urge to huff out a sigh and smack him wherever she could find for finding fault in what they were doing.

“We are facing the end of all things, Jon,” she finally said, laying her hand over his heart. “Everything else is terrible. Why deny ourselves this one comfort?”

Either Jon could find no answer or he simply did not want to speak anymore. He simply pressed a kiss to her head and held her closer, as if he could shield them both from all that would come. Sansa almost wished that he could, but she knew all too well that none were safe with death coming to recruit them into its army.

*****

Sansa woke slowly once more, warmer than usual with the weight of an arm slung over her middle. Blinking her eyes, she carefully turned her head until she could see her bedfellow. Jon’s face was lax in sleep, all of the stress and hardship gone. It made him look younger and she imagined that she could see the boy she once knew. She couldn’t even bring herself to touch him, transfixed by the sight of him and knowing that he was there because he wanted to be. Not for what she could offer him, but simply because she was Sansa and he was Jon and they loved one another.

It was almost enough to steal the breath from her chest.

Then she heard a scratching sound and lifted her head just enough to see Ghost’s white form pacing by the closed bedroom door. Letting out a soft sigh, Sansa carefully rolled away from Jon, leaving him to sleep on the bed as she pulled on a dressing gown and belted it just above the swell of her stomach. The direwolf’s striking eyes fixed upon her as she scratched at his ears before opening the door, letting him through first before stepping into her solar and shutting it behind her.

As she opened the outer door and let him through, Sansa peeked into the corridor and watched him go, waiting until she heard footsteps nearing before stepping out to intercept the servant. The maid looked stunned at the sightf of her, undressed with her hair unbound in soft waves down her back. Sansa offered her a small smile, warmth touching upon her cheeks as she felt almost shy in way that she hadn’t in so long.

“Milady,” the girl said, bobbing a brief curtsy.

“Might you call upon the kitchen to deliver breakfast to my solar?” Sansa asked, resisting the urge to step into the shadows so that she could not be seen.

“Of course,” the maid said, looking surprised.

Sansa hesitated as she turned away before calling out again.

“Tell them to bring enough for two,” she said, her voice wavering. “As discreetly as you can, please.”

The girl’s eyes grew even wider, if possible, and she nodded her head.

“Yes, milady,” she said gravely.

Sansa gave her a more genuine smile, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you,” she said genuinely.

The girl looked almost awestruck as she turned away, rushing off to do as Sansa asked. Stepping back into her solar, she shut the door and took a deep, steadying breath before turning to make her way back into her bedchamber. She made sure to latch the door quietly. Though Sansa knew that no servant would dare to enter without invitation, she couldn’t take the risk that someone may stumble in and see Jon in her bed. He was right. It was dangerous. That didn’t mean she had any intention of chasing him off.

Crossing the room on the balls of her feet, making as little noise as she could, Sansa climbed onto the bed as slowly as she could, not wanting to jostle him about as he slept on. A part of her didn’t want to wake him at all for how soundly he slept. Jon deserved rest more than anyone. Yet another part of her didn’t want to miss a single moment of his presence. With the Dragon Queen gone, though the circumstances were far less than ideal, she had a true chance to speak to him without that particular distraction to pull him away.

Reaching out, she carefully brushed her thumb over one of the scars that surrounded his eyes. Sansa never did hear how he got them and curiosity unfurled in her chest as she traced another. Jon stirred just slightly, his chest rising with a sharp breath as she mapped the slope of his nose with the tip of her index finger, on down to his lips. Though they were wind-chapped, she found them quite perfect. Her breath caught in her throat as his hand lifted, wrapping around her wrist before she could touch his lips.

Yet he did not open his eyes, pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand before dropping one to each of her fingers, her knuckles, her wrist. Only then did he looked up at her, weaving his fingers through hers as he pushed up on his elbow. Sansa said nothing, gazing down at him with wonder. It struck her, in that moment, a singular thought that this was exactly how it was supposed to be. Everything that her father wanted for her. A gentler man she’d never truly known. Jon had bravery in spades and his strength spoke for itself, for all that he had endured.

“I love you,” Sansa whispered, only just realizing herself how deeply the feelings ran in her.

Jon looked at her with awe in his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. Releasing her hand, he reached up and wove his fingers through her hair, gently tugging her down to kiss her. Sansa relaxed into him without a second thought, parting her lips and laying her hand over his chest as she responded with equal affection. They stayed like that for quite some time, ignorant to the rest of the world as they remained contentedly wrapped in one another. Then the sound of someone shifting around her solar reached their ears and Jon pulled away with a soft gasp, looking alarmed for just a moment.

“It’s a servant,” Sansa assured him, brushing her thumb over his jaw. “I asked for our breakfast.”

Jon’s eyes met hers once more, asking a question he didn’t dare to voice.

“We’re safe,” she assured him.

He nodded, swallowing hard before sitting up completely. Sansa shifted back as he did, slipping off of the bed to cross to her vanity. She picked up a brush as she sat, determined to remove the snarls from her hair before she ate a bite. As she began running the bristles through her mane, tugging at particularly stubborn tangles and hoping that she didn’t pull any hairs out, she felt the weight of Jon’s eyes upon her. Sansa was content to let him watch, brushing rhythmically as she hummed out a nonsense tune.

“Seven hells, you’re beautiful,” he murmured after a while.

Sansa paused, a smile pulling at her lips as she ducked her head. She’d heard such words many times in her life yet they never meant as much as they did now, falling from the lips of Jon Snow.

“I could say the same about you,” she said, setting down the brush.

Without a maid to attend her, Sansa set about plaiting her hair into a simple braid over her shoulder. Jon’s disbelieving scoff reached her ears and she couldn’t help but smile wider.

“Do you think me a liar?” she asked teasingly.

“Not particularly,” Jon said, clambering out of bed. “A bit blind, perhaps.”

Sansa snuck a unashamed look over her shoulder, watching as he reached for his shirt.

“I’ve always had an eye for beautiful things,” she said, tying off her braid.

“Aye,” Jon said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he pulled his shirt on. “I remembered, even at the Wall.”

Turning in her chair, she folded her hands over the back of it as she gazed at him.

“You thought of me there?” Sansa asked, more than slightly surprised by it.

Jon blinked as if he was caught in something that he didn’t mean to admit, his cheeks flushing as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“More than once,” he admitted.

Sansa felt a smile pulling at her lips yet again, wondering how long it had been since she felt this way.

“There was a spot north of the Wall,” Jon said, his voice growing distant as he lost himself in a memory. “I woke there just after dawn and saw everything covered in ice, all of it sparkling like diamonds in the early light. I knew that you’d find it beautiful. I thought that it must be magic, to look like that.”

Sansa watched him with round eyes as he blinked, tearing himself from his mind with a shake of his head.

“I met Gilly there,” he said, looking over at her with an almost teasing smile pulling at his lips. “She was named for the gillyflower. I told her it was a pretty name.”

A laugh fell from Sansa’s lips quite without her permission as she recalled that day, so long ago, that she informed a very red-faced Jon that he should always compliment a lady’s name.

“You remember that,” she breathed out, almost unable to believe it.

“Course I do,” Jon said, shrugging it off as he rose to his feet.

Sansa watched as he crossed over to her, taking his hand when he held it out in offering. They walked to the door together, Jon hovering to the side as she opened it and peered through to make sure the outer chamber was empty. Nodding at him, she guided him through and moved to the table as he crossed the room to latch the door, ensuring they wouldn’t be interrupted if they didn’t wish it. Then he sat with her, eagerly loading his plate with the same lack of grace or patience that she saw at the Wall. Sansa didn’t blame him for it, wondering how many nights he went hungry at Castle Black and beyond. They ate quietly for a time until Jon sat back in his seat as he sipped at a cup of water.

“I need you,” he said quietly.

Sansa looked up at him, the confession catching her off-guard. She lowered her fork to her plate, wondering if he wanted any sort of response. Yet he stared off at nothing, not even drinking as if he was too deep within his mind to notice what he was doing.

“You see things differently,” Jon said, his eyes finally flitting to her. “I don’t understand how your mind works half the time but I know that you have thoughts worth hearing.”

Sansa felt almost breathless, her eyes wide and her lips parted with astonishment.

“The last battle I fought here would have been lost without your intervention,” Jon said.

“Jon…” Sansa sighed, shaking her head.

He gave her a look that told her to allow him to finish.

“You were right that I didn’t heed your council when I should have. That is why I need you now,” Jon said, reaching out to take her hand in his. “You should be a part of the war council. You, Arya, and Bran. We will need the sharpest of minds in the room to devise a strategy and there is none better that I can think of than yours.”

Sansa swallowed hard, her heart fluttering away in her chest as she found validation in his words that she didn’t know that she craved until now.

“I wanted to be heard because I felt that I had insight on Ramsay that no one else could offer,” she said, squeezing his hand lightly. “I have little to offer when it comes to the Night King or his army.”

“You cannot know that for certain. There may be something that you see differently than the rest of us,” Jon said.

She considered his words for a moment before nodding her head.

“I’ll take part,” Sansa told him.

Jon lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss over her knuckles.

“I thought not to live past this fight, for a time,” he admitted.

Sansa’s demeanor changed at once, a chill running down her spine as she stiffened, clenching her hand down on his as fear struck at her heart.

“Jon,” she said, her voice hitching.

“It’s been in the back of my mind for so long,” he said, looking away from her. “Whether I’m asleep or awake, it matters little. I’ve looked death in the eyes and it has haunted me for such a long time. I felt certain that I would die to defeat the Night King and it wasn’t a thought that allowed me discomfort until a few months ago. Now I have this… future in my mind. A future with you and our child and our family. So you see, I need you. Because I no longer have any desire to fight to the death. I want to fight to live.”

Sansa knew that Jon struggled with his words, that finding them didn’t always come easily to him. That knowledge made his words now all the more meaningful. Leaning in, she kissed him as deeply and ardently as she could manage, pouring everything she felt into the embrace. Jon responded with equal passion, emotions overwhelming them both as they entangled themselves with one another. It wasn’t until a knock came on her door that they broke apart. They stood abruptly, Jon disappearing into her bedchamber before Sansa could even take a full breath. She sorted herself out as she approached the door, opening it a crack before she recognized the face beyond.

“Maester Wolkan,” Sansa said, opening the door only slightly wider due to her state of dress.

He kept his eyes fixed upon her face respectfully, which she felt grateful for though certainly far from surprised. The former Bolton maester took her by surprise at first with his gentle nature. Now it was just something she felt used to.

“Pardon the interruption, my lady,” he said, bowing his head to her as his chains clinked. “Riders just came through the gates.”

A spike of fear struck at Sansa’s chest and she wished that Jon could be there if only to clasp her hand as she nodded for Wolkan to continue.

“Do they carry Umber banners?” she asked hopefully, knowing that little Ned Umber hadn’t yet returned from the Last Hearth.

“No, Lady Stark,” Maester Wolkan said with a shake of his head. “Krakens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all so so much for the wonderful response. This fic just hit 20k hits and I couldn't be more grateful!
> 
> I promise I'll get caught up with responding to comments as soon as I can.

It took every ounce of her self restraint not to run through the corridors of the Great Keep. Sansa walked as quickly as she could, uncharacteristically paying no mind to the servants that bowed as she passed. She knew that Jon was just behind her, shadowing her every step, but her mind was focused on one thing alone. Her feet stumbled over the steps as she pushed through an outer door. Jon’s hand caught her elbow to steady her as her eyes swung about the yard. There, close to the stables, she saw a group of travelers unloading the saddles from their horses. Among them, a familiar yet altogether different face.

Her heart flipped in her chest at the sight of him, his face filled out and his limbs much stronger than she’d last seen him. He resembled the boy she knew from childhood yet moved with the familiar uncertainty that came from years of hardship beyond imagination. Sansa pressed a hand to her mouth, a sob rising in her throat. There was something inexplicably emotional about seeing Theon again. The sight of him was gut-wrenching and yet heartening at the same time. As she tried to force her feet to move, a warm hand planted in the center of her back.

“Go,” Jon said quietly.

Sansa nodded, swallowing hard and reaching out to squeeze his hand before finally pushing herself to move. She moved slowly at first, aware of the others in the courtyard and how she should act, as the Lady of Winterfell. Then Theon turned and met her gaze, hope, joy, and apprehension crossing his face. Sansa hurried her steps, nearly running by the time she threw herself into his arms. Theon caught her easily, gripping her close to a body that was no longer as frail as it once was. Her tears spilled over as she clutched at him, this man who risked everything to save her.

“I don’t understand,” Sansa said, pulling away to look him in the eyes. “Jon told me that you were going to rescue Yara from your uncle.”

Theon’s eyes shone happily, a smile breaking out over his face and making him look years younger.

“I did it,” he said. “She’s taking back the Iron Islands.”

“Why aren’t you with her?”

Theon hesitated, glancing around them before looking back at her.

“I want to fight for you,” he admitted. “For Winterfell, if you’ll have me.”

Sansa couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips as well as she nodded. He looked so much better though he still bore the marks of his time with Ramsay, just like her.

“He’s dead,” she breathed out.

It wasn’t something she spoke of anymore. She meant it when she told Ramsay that he’d be forgotten. But Sansa knew that Theon had to hear it, just as she had to see it through. They knew better than anyone. The world saw the surface of Ramsay’s cruelty. Sansa and Theon knew how deep it ran. A look of satisfaction filled his eyes and Sansa nodded at him, releasing him from the obligation of saying anything. As he stepped away, his eyes flitting over her shoulder, she knew what he would see.

“Jon,” he said, an underlying nervousness to his voice.

Sansa glanced around, watching as Jon approached them. She resisted the urge to step between them, knowing that they’d met once or twice on Dragonstone yet unsure of whether Jon would be happy with his presence here. Her fears were for nothing, as Jon lifted his hand and held it out in offering, nodding his head.

“Theon.”

Theon grasped his hand, relief passing over his face as they held tight for a few moments before letting go.

“I want to fight,” he repeated.

Jon nodded, his eyes moving from Theon to Sansa and back before he spoke.

“We can use every man.”

Sansa could have kissed him then and there, if not for all who watched and knew nothing of Jon’s true parentage. Instead, she looked from Theon to the tired-looking men that accompanied him, knowing that their journey must have been short and hard for them to arrive at Winterfell so quickly.

“Come,” she said, drawing her shoulders back as she fell into her role as lady of the castle. “You must wish to rest. We will find chambers for you and I will personally see that food and bathwater is sent as soon as is possible.”

The Greyjoy men all bowed and thanked her, looking slightly surprised at the welcome they’d received considering what banners they flew.

“Is Queen Daenerys here?” Theon asked as Sansa took his arm.

She and Jon exchanged a wary look and his brief nod left it up to her to tell Theon whatever she thought was right.

“There is much to discuss,” she said quietly, guiding him towards the Great Keep.

“I’ll tell Arya and Bran,” Jon said, separating from them. “They’ll want to know.”

Sansa glanced towards Theon as he turned to walk away, reading the guilt on his face all too easily.

“It will be alright,” she said, trying to convince them both. “They know what you’ve done for me.”

Theon didn’t look altogether convinced but he allowed her to lead him inside anyway, the tension easing from his shoulders as they stepped into their childhood home together.

*****

By the time she made it back to her chambers, Sansa was far from surprised at the sight of Arya perched on a chair next to the hearth. She was sharpening the blade that once belonged to Littlefinger, giving it her entire focus.

“I thought he was dead until you told me how he helped you,” she said as Sansa shed her cloak and sat in a chair to peel off her boots. “There’s a time I’d have put him on my list if I knew he was alive.”

Sansa sat back in her chair, tilting her head back and closing her eyes with a sigh.

“I hated him when I first saw him again,” she admitted, unthinkingly laying a hand over her stomach. “Yet he showed his nature when it mattered most.”

She felt Arya’s eyes upon her but felt far too tired to even open her eyes, much less lift her head.

“He has nothing to fear from me.”

Sansa hummed, feeling as if she could slip away sitting right there. It was easier for her to grow tired these days. Maester Wolkan advised her to take small rests when she could and now she knew why. Her body seemed to work harder than ever, keeping two souls alive instead of the one.

“You won’t be able to hide it much longer,” Arya advised, her voice sounding oddly far away.

Lifting her hand, Sansa laid it over the other atop her stomach.

“I don’t want anyone else to know,” she sighed, tilting her head to cast Arya a sleepy glance. “Only us.”

“That can’t last forever,” Arya said simply, sheathing her blade.

Then she stood, crossing over to Sansa and holding out a hand in offering.

“You’ll be miserable if you sleep there.”

Sansa reached out and took her hand, allowing her sister to haul her to her feet.

“There’s too much to do,” she said, though she let Arya pull her into her bedchamber.

“You’ll be no use to anyone if you can’t keep your eyes open.”

Sansa sighed and began unlacing the side of her dress, knowing she couldn’t possibly lie down in the confining fabric.

“I’ll need to let out my dresses soon,” she mumbled, letting the dress fall from her shoulders once it was loose.

“Just make more,” Arya said with a shrug, pulling back her furs.

Sansa huffed out a small laugh, pulling her necklace over her head to lay it on her vanity before shaking out her dress and laying it over the chair.

“I can’t exactly send for fabric,” she said, turning towards her very welcoming bed. “Winter is here.”

“You’ll thank me for the idea when you’re the size of Barth the brewer.”

Sansa’s face pinched into a frown as she sat atop her bed. Arya let out a laugh, almost sounding like her old self as she stepped away.

“You look like you always used to when someone dared to splash mud on your hems.”

Pressing her lips together to keep from smiling, Sansa picked up a pillow to hug to her chest.

“I wish Mother were here,” she sighed.

Arya snorted, dropping onto the end of her bed.

“If she were here, she’d cuff Jon until he begged for mercy,” she said.

Sansa considered it carefully, shaking her head after a while.

“I like to think that she’d understand,” she said thoughtfully. “After all we’ve been through…”

Arya didn’t disagree again, glancing down at her lap as a sad look crossed her face.

“She wouldn’t want much to do with me,” she said quietly.

Sansa reached out, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly.

“You’re wrong,” she said as Arya looked up at her. “She’d be proud of you for surviving. I know I am.”

Arya’s lips parted in shock and Sansa offered her a smile before reaching up to flick lightly at her ear.

“Now leave me be, Arya Underfoot,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “I need my rest.”

A smile broke out on Arya’s face.

“Try to stop running yourself into the ground then, stupid,” she said, smacking Sansa’s hand away.

They shared a long look before laughing as one, Sansa falling back once she laid her pillow back where it belonged. Sleep took her quickly, a smile still playing on her lips as she barely heard the soft sound of her door shutting behind the quietest girl in the keep.

*****

She woke to the softest brush upon her cheek, her eyes fluttering open as she leaned her face into the touch. Even without looking, Sansa could have known exactly who woke her. Jon’s callused touch was long past familiar to her now.

“How long did I sleep?” she sighed, reaching up to rub the bleariness from her eyes.

“Not long,” Jon said, shifting over as she sat up.

Sansa stifled a yawn behind her hand, feeling far better than she had before resting. As she turned her head towards him, something tugged at her chest. A sense of foreboding, that something had gone incredibly wrong. Jon didn’t show any of it on his face but there was something in the way that he held himself, almost leaning away from her, that alerted her to whatever was amiss.

“What happened?” she asked warily.

He gave her a questioning look.

“Something has gone wrong,” Sansa said, reaching out to take his hand in her own. “Tell me.”

A sigh passed through his lips as he shook his head.

“Tormund is here,” he said, reaching up to rub at his forehead with his free hand. “With Beric Dondarrion and a few surviving members of the Watch.”

Sansa’s eyes grew wide as she let the information set in.

“They survived the Wall’s collapse?” she gasped, scooting closer to him.

Jon nodded, lifting his eyes to meet hers hesitantly.

“They passed the Last Hearth as they came towards Winterfell.”

Sansa’s eyes darted over his face, waiting for him to say more. To mention where the Night King’s army might be and how many more days of preparation they might expect. Then she realized exactly what he said and dread gripped at her heart like a cold hand.

“The Last Hearth?” she said, her hand falling away from his. “Ned Umber? His men?”

Jon shook his head slowly, telling her all that she needed to know. Sansa’s sharp intake of breath filled the room as she dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut. A wave of guilt came over her as she grappled with the truth of it. She’d sent the young lord to his keep to gather what was left of his people. Now he was dead, along with countless others, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel that it was her fault.

“We should have sent a raven,” she said, shaking her head. “This could have been prevented.”

“Lord Umber knew the risks,” Jon said.

“He was a child,” Sansa scoffed, lifting her head to look him in the eye. “A child who sought my guidance. I failed him.”

Jon reached up, his scarred hand cupping her cheek gently.

“You are not responsible for this,” he said with certainty. “You did not allow the Night King and his army into our lands.”

Sansa all but bit at her tongue to keep from mentioning that it was Daenerys’ undead dragon that did that. Passing judgment for an irreversible choice wouldn’t help anyone in this situation.

“How long do we have?” she asked, dreading the answer as soon as she spoke the question.

Jon looked just as fearful of it, letting out a sigh before answering.

“Three days at most.”

She blinked quickly, refusing to let tears fill her eyes once more.

“I suppose we ought to have that war council,” Sansa said, feeling weary once more.

Jon shook his head, a look of frustration passing over his face.

“I gave Lord Tyrion and Ser Jorah my word that we would delay it another day,” he said, annoyance rising in his voice. “In case Daenerys returns.”

Sansa gritted her teeth against her own ire, knowing that it was the logical thing to do. If Daenerys did come back and learned that they went ahead with the plans without her, she would surely see an insult in their actions.

“One more day,” she said, liking it even less than him. “What do we do until then?”

Jon looked as much at a loss as she felt. A knock on her chamber door saved either of them from answering the question.

“My lady?” Maester Wolkan called through the door. “You wanted to be informed when the cook finished the stew. It’s ready.”

“Thank you,” Sansa called in return. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

They waited for the sound of his footsteps and clinking chains to fade away before she let out a soft sigh.

“I assured Ser Davos that I would help feed the folk from Wintertown,” she said, pushing the furs away.

“I can assist him, if you’d like to rest instead.”

Sansa shook her head, slipping out of bed and stretching her arms over her head before crossing over to fetch her gown once more.

“I want to do this,” she said, stepping into it before easing it up and sliding her arms into the sleeves. “Everyone must know how important they are to us, not just those with titles and lands. As Lady of Winterfell, it’s not just my duty to make them welcome but my honor.”

Jon simply watched as she fastened her dress as loosely as she could but caught her hand in his before she could make her way to the outer chamber to fetch her cloak. Sansa allowed him to tug her in, tilting her head into his hand as he cupped her cheek. She didn’t know how much she missed simple, gentle touches until Jon offered them to her every chance he got. Sansa craved them now, as if she could not quite get enough.

“You were born to this,” Jon said, a breathless awe in his voice. “More than any of us, even Robb.”

Sansa pressed her lips together, her cheeks warming faintly at his praise as she lifted her hand to fiddle with the strap of his cloak.

“When I lived in the capital, Cersei once told me that to be a queen, I had to make the people fear me,” she admitted, thinking on all the queen’s little wisdoms. “I rejected the thought almost immediately. I knew that I’d never want people to fear me, but rather for them to love me.”

“They do,” Jon said, leaning in to brush a kiss over her lips before speaking again. “Even a fool could see it.”

Sansa offered him a brilliant smile and wove her fingers through his.

“Escort me down?” she asked, walking backward to the door.

“It would be my honor,” Jon said, giving her a low, exaggerated bow as she let out a small laugh.

Once she was had her cloak and shoes, Sansa allowed Jon to lead her outside where the sun had already dipped well below the horizon. Braziers were lit all around the yard and as many benches and other workable seats filled the space as they could manage. As Ser Jorah approached, undoubtedly to speak of Daenerys’ ongoing absence, Sansa slipped away and crossed the yard to where Davos was already pouring out bowls of stew.

“My lady,” he said, tilting his head towards her.

“Ser Davos,” Sansa said in reply, taking a ladle of her own. “Apologies for my lateness.”

“Oh don’t think on it at all,” he said, giving her a warm, reassuring smile.

Sansa answered with a smile of her own, grateful for her gloves and fur-lined cloak as the evening air prickled at her cheeks and made her ears ache ever so slightly. Time stretched on as they both handed bowls out to whoever passed by, until Sansa’s feet ached and her body craved rest once more. It wasn’t until she heard a familiar bark of laughter that her head lifted and she saw Tormund standing near, a shorter man at his side with a nearly exasperated look upon his face. Sansa recognized him easily, though she hadn’t seen him in quite some time.

“Lord Tollet,” she called to him, giving him a brief curtsy as he drew near.

If his cheeks weren’t already red from cold, she might have though he blushed.

“Not a lord, Lady Stark,” he said, shaking his head.

“Just a crow freezing his ass off as if he hasn’t seen colder days,” Tormund said, thumping Edd soundly on the back.

Sansa smiled at their antics, setting about pouring them both a bowl.

“I heard you were named Lord Commander after we left,” she said, handing one off to Edd. “The 999th, if the rumors are true.”

“Aye,” the man said, sounding truly miserable at the thought. “But no more Night’s Watch means no more need for a Lord Commander, I suppose.”

Sansa’s smile faded at the thought. She could only see five or six black brothers left among the thousands that once served along the Wall as she glanced around the yard. All because of the Night King and his army.

“I heard that you found no survivors at the Last Hearth,” she said, her voice betraying her distress.

Even Tormund looked somber at the reminder.

“A warning,” the wildiing said, shaking his head.

Sansa didn’t have to question what the warning may be. There was only one thing that the Army of the Dead wanted, and that was more dead. A shiver ran down her spine but she didn’t voice her fears, forcing a smile upon her face as she handed Tormund a bowl as well.

“Eat as you wish,” she invited them. “You’ve had a hard journey.”

“As have we all,” Tormund grunted, though he gave her an appreciative nod.

Sansa watched them go before starting at the sight of a bowl appearing nearly right under her nose. Davos gave her an expectant look as she blinked his way with surprise.

“The Lady of Winterfell must eat as well,” he said, handing her a spoon.

She took it, remaining standing as she slowly sipped at the broth. It wasn’t particularly tasty but it would warm her chest and fill her belly just as much as a varied southern meal.

“Has the sickness ended yet?” Davos asked.

Sansa paused with her spoon near to her mouth, almost convinced that she’d heard him wrong. Swallowing hard, she laid the spoon back in the broth and gave him a confused look.

“Sickness?” she asked.

He nodded, still going about his business, pouring soup for everyone who passed with hunger etched upon their faces.

“My wife had it something terrible with our first and second. The next five weren’t quite so bad.”

Sansa stared at him with round eyes, torn between shock and horror. As he looked up at her, a smile overtook his face and he gave her a nod, signaling that it was exactly what she suspected.

“It’s not all that easy to notice,” he assured her. “I just happen to see the signs more easily than others.

“I”d almost think you have to, with seven children to your name,” Sansa said, setting down her soup. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“Aye,” he said with a nod. “She and the boys tend to our lands. They’re far enough from King’s Landing that I doubt they see any trouble. I write to her every so often to make sure everything’s alright.”

Sansa wondered if he missed her terribly, as she missed Jon when he went south.

“Please, Ser Davos, I must ask that-”

“There’s no need, my lady,” he said, turning his attention back to his task. “No one’ll hear it from me.”

Sansa felt relief, first knowing that he would keep it to himself and that he also didn’t seem to know the identity of the father quite yet. She had a feeling that when she told Jon about it, that he’d want to confess everything to Ser Davos. Given the man’s gentle nature and loyalty, she wasn’t entirely opposed to it. As the line of waiting folk drew shorter, Davos looked her way and gestured with his chin towards the castle.

“Take yourself off to rest, Lady Stark. You need it more than most.”

Though she usually chafed at being instructed in any way, Sansa couldn’t bring herself to feel annoyed now. All she wanted was her bed once more. As if summoned by the mere thought of walking off by herself, Jon seemed to appear at her side as soon as she stepped towards the Great Keep.

“Have you been waiting all night to appear?” she asked with a small laugh, taking his arm.

“Only for the last few minutes,” he admitted, walking with her towards the door. “You were swaying a bit on the spot.”

Sansa’s cheeks colored with embarrassment.

“I must ask Maester Wolkan for advice,” she said, lifting her skirts as they made their way inside and to the steps that would lead them up to her chambers. “I cannot continue this way with fainting spells and exhaustion overtaking me.”

“Perhaps it’s normal,” Jon suggested.

“Normal can wait until the wars are over,” Sansa sighed, leaning into him far more than she would have liked, if only for how tired she truly was. “Right now, I must be entirely abnormal.”

Jon sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple as they stepped out into the darkened corridor. Much to Sansa’s pleasure, Jon began stripping away his clothes as she did the same. He remained in his breeches, pulling her close to his side once she was in her night shift. Sansa curled in close to him, contentedly breathing in his scent as it lulled her off to sleep.

When her eyes next opened, Sansa was certain that it must be close to dawn judging by the movement she could hear from outside of her chambers as well as the castle stirring beyond her windows. Yet as she slipped out of Jon’s embrace, leaving him sleeping, Sansa pulled open her curtains only to see that it was dark still. Not a single sign of the sun in the sky, only pitch black.

That was merely the first of many days during which the sun didn’t rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would love to hear what you think about the chapter!
> 
> I know there wasn't much Theon here but I couldn't fit him into much of what I had planned for the chapter. I promise we'll get more of him and especially him interacting with Sansa.
> 
> I know this chapter isn’t super exciting but there were a few things I had to get out of the way to move the story along. Good things are coming, I promise.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned to have this done way before now but since I've only just finished it, I figured I may as well put the chapter up in case tonight's episode is a shit show and people need something (hopefully) good to come read.
> 
> This chapter is 8k words which makes it the longest by far. That is my gift to all of you for your wonderful comments and your patience. I love you all.
> 
> I'm not good at the war stuff so please bear with me as I get through the next few chapters. I promise I will try my best.

The Great Hall was a great deal warmer than any other room in the castle, due to the sheer mass of people they’d allowed inside. Sansa moved among them, her thumb pressing to the palm of her opposite hand as she spoke in low tones to an attentive Maester Wolkan. Brienne shadowed them, unwilling to let Sansa out of her sight now that a lasting darkness had fallen. There was no telling what a frightened soul may do as the Night King’s approach grew ever more real.

“Keep the braziers lit here and in the courtyard and encourage everyone to use torches and fireplaces,” she said, tilting her head towards him. “We have an abundance of wood but the same cannot be said for candles. There is no telling how long this will last.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a nod.

Sansa did her best to keep a brave face as she ensured that the extra furs they had were given to children first. She couldn’t allow the people to see any stress in her eyes. The level of panic was high enough without her adding to it. As she did her best to focus on the most important tasks, she tried to think not only of what her father might do in this situation, but also her mother. Comforting her people stood out as the most important in her mind, so here she was.

“Ensure that there are enough bandages and medicines gathered here as soon as possible. If the battle is won, this is the best place to assess the wounded and ease the passing of those we cannot help.”

“And in the crypts, my lady?”

Sansa hesitated, considering it for a moment.

“Let us have the war council before I make any decisions regarding the crypts,” she decided after thinking it over. “I will have to inquire after how much dragonglass we have. In any case, we will all need to be armed.”

Maester Wolkan nodded his head, seemingly in agreement with her. As she turned to continue walking, a voice rose up to her right.

“The old gods bless you, my lady,” an elderly woman said, reaching out to clasp at her hand.

Sansa gave Brienne a reassuring look before sinking to her knees before the woman. She was among the oldest in the hall. As the winds grew colder and the snows grew deeper, the elderly were the first to suffer. Sansa did what she could to care for the ones that survived the journey to Winterfell but it wasn’t always enough.

“Is there anything that you need?” she asked earnestly, clasping her hand in both of her own.

The old woman’s smile was tremulous and yet exuding a sort of contentment that took Sansa by surprise. This was hardly an ideal situation and yet this woman looked perfectly at ease.

“I lived to see the blood of Rickard and his son living and ruling once more, as it should be,” she said, shaking her head. “Little else matters to this old woman.”

Sansa offered her a smile in return, nodding her head. She reminded her of Old Nan in a way, comfort wrapping around her heart much like a shield.

“The North will endure,” Sansa said, determination taking root in her voice.

The woman let out a raspy laugh.

“We are rather mulish that way,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Sansa pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as well, squeezing the woman’s hand lightly before standing up again. Her eyes caught on movement and she tilted her head towards one of the doors, watching as Jon slipped through with concern and uncertainty lining his face. Sansa resisted the urge to lay a hand over her stomach as she moved to meet him a corner of the hall. His eyes swept over her as if something may have happened to her in the hours since they last saw one another. Snow clung to his hair and Sansa imagined that his cheeks may have been red from cold. She resisted the desire to reach out to him, keeping her hands clasped before her.

“Daenerys’ forces?” she asked, knowing that he came from inquiring after them.

“They’re unsettled,” he said with a sigh. “They think it’s an ill omen.”

“It’s rather understandable,” Sansa said, glancing around them as she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I find it rather difficult to convince everyone not to be afraid of this darkness when it bothers me greatly.”

Jon gave her a look that spoke of understanding, though she knew he’d seen short days and long nights beyond the Wall.

“It’s time,” he said, a resignation to his tone. “We can’t delay the council another day.”

Sansa nodded in agreement, grateful that she didn’t have to be the one to say it.

“We will send word to all those who need attend,” she said, glancing over at Maester Wolkan who nodded before slipping away.

Brienne remained close, her eyes sweeping over the crowd of people.

“Fetch Ser Jaime as well.”

Jon’s eyes shot to her face and Brienne looked no less surprised. Sansa simply nodded at her, letting her know that she hadn’t heard wrong.

“I don’t trust him,” Jon said in a low voice, his jaw tight with tension.

Sansa looked at him once more.

“He is a seasoned warrior,” she reminded him, smoothing her hands over her gown as she steeled herself. “His counsel may be valuable.”

Jon didn’t look convinced but Sansa could hardly waste time speaking of Jaime Lannister at this moment.

“The man from King’s Landing, Arya’s blacksmith,” she said, earning a shocked look. “I would like to have him there as well.”

“Gendry?” Jon said, his face screwing up with confusion. “What does he have to do with Arya?”

Sansa felt the oddest temptation to laugh, reaching out to clasp at his arm.

“You will have to take it up with her,” she said, almost pitying him for not noticing it yet.

His startled look didn’t fade a bit once she turned away, lifting her skirts as she made her way out of the hall towards the kitchens. Sansa felt duty-bound to ensure that there was wine, water, and at least a small assortment of foods awaiting them in the council chamber. There was no telling how long they’d be there planning everything down to the last detail and she knew that nerves would be stretched thin enough without hunger and thirst darkening their moods even more. 

By the time she walked through the door, a few were already present. Arya and Bran hovered by the hearth, neither speaking. Tyrion and Jaime lifted their heads from where they spoke in low tones as Varys stood by with distant eyes. Missandei looked far from comfortable, as if she wasn’t quite certain where to stand without her queen present. Sansa felt for her, knowing that she must feel terribly out of place, much like she once had in King’s Landing. She wasn’t certain what kind of reception she would receive from one of Daenerys’ closest advisors but courtesy dictated that she approach the woman nonetheless.

“Lady Stark,” Missandei greeted her, offering a bow of her head in the place of a curtsy.

Sansa took no offense at it, sensing that the gesture was not ill meant. For a moment, she grappled with how to respond. Missandei held no title and it would be odd to give her one. So she settled on avoiding her name completely.

“I have heard that you were a translator in Essos,” she said, folding her hands atop the table. “If I may ask, how many languages do you speak?”

Missandei looked taken aback by the question, her eyes darting towards the door as it opened to admit Davos and Sam. Sansa pointedly did not look to either of them. Davos knew of her condition with certainty and there was every chance that Sam, clever as he was, had deduced it for himself through the potions Maester Wolkan had been giving her. Grey Worm followed shortly behind them, a look of both confusion and caution crossing his face as he moved to stand just behind Missandei, not outright joining their conversation but making it quite clear that he listened.

“I have a basic knowledge of many languages, though I am fluent in Westerosi, High Valyrian, and bastard Valyrian.”

“You have an ear for it,” Sansa said, remembering how her septa and her mother used to compliment her own talents. “It’s quite impressive, I must say.”

The other woman’s lips curved into a small smile as she ducked her head just slightly.

“A skill more suited to the east.”

“And yet no less remarkable for it. Where were you born?”

“Naath,” Missandei answered, looking no less surprised at Sansa’s interest, considering they hadn’t spoken a single word to one another before now and Sansa’s own chilly dynamic with her queen.

Thinking on the name that sounded familiar, Sansa dredged up a memory from the distant reaches of her mind, of lessons from long ago.

“The Isle of Butterflies?” she asked, hoping that she was not incorrect.

Missandei’s eyes grew wide and the smile that formed upon her face was far more genuine. Over her shoulder, Sansa saw the Unsullied commander tilt his head towards them, though she could not see his face.

“Yes, Lady Stark,” she said with a nod, sounding somewhat happy at Sansa’s recollection. “I did not think that people here learned much about Essos beyond the great cities.”

“My maester here at Winterfell was determined that we should know our geography,” Sansa said, a fondness entering her voice as she thought of Maester Luwin. “He believed that no matter where we might end up, we must always know exactly where we are.”

“He sounds like an intelligent man,” Missandei said appreciatively.

The door opened yet again and Sansa somehow knew who would come through even before she looked. Gendry was the first of them, his eyes locking on Arya’s as he entered with hunched shoulders and uncertainty in every step. It was quite clear that he wasn’t convinced of his welcome, or that he belonged there at all. She only hoped to disprove such a notion before the council ended. Jon came next, though he was quickly overshadowed by his companion. Ghost slipped inside just after him and bounded over to Sansa without a moment’s hesitation. Reaching out a hand, Sansa scratched at his ears as he took up a position at her side, though she didn’t miss the way that Missandei shifted away from them every so slightly.

“He won’t harm you,” she assured her.

Missandei didn’t look entirely convinced, as if she hadn’t spent years around dragons.

“I never heard of a direwolf before coming to the North,” she admitted, hesitation written across her face. “I didn’t know they could grow so large.”

“Ghost is one of the only ones out of his litter mates to manage it,” Sansa said, the words slipping out before she could reel them in.

“There are others?”

She swallowed hard, knowing that she would see Lady in the her mind if she closed her eyes and thought of her long enough.

“Six of them in total,” she said, her voice distant as she rested her hand atop Ghost’s head. “One for each of the Stark children. It was Jon and Robb, my brother, that discovered them.”

“What happened?” Missandei asked, clearly wondering where Sansa’s own wolf was.

Ghost leaned into her side, nudging at her hip with his nose as she breathed through the loss and sadness that rose in her. If he wasn’t silent, she knew he might have whined at the distress he sensed from her.

“Cersei had her killed when she was still a pup,” she admitted.

Missandei looked at her with sympathy.

“Our Queen said that it felt as if a limb had been cut away when her dragon fell. I imagine your loss must have felt similar.”

Sansa blinked at her, oddly surprised by the sudden mention of Daenerys.

“Yes,” she said quietly, unable to deny it.

Jon stepped up to her side, his hand lifting to tug at her elbow lightly.

“Pardon us,” he said to Missandei.

Sansa nearly scowled his way, knowing that his manners had hardly improved from his days at Castle Black. Time spent with a group of men, mostly lowborn at that, didn’t require courteous words. But they weren’t among the Night’s Watch and he could certainly think to excuse them far more gracefully. Yet she allowed him to guide her away, Ghost ever at her side as they stepped to another side of the large map-covered table.

“I invited Theon along as well,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes.

There was a question deep in their depths, asking if she approved of the decision. Sansa nodded, her irritation fading away in the wake of a much warmer, more affectionate regard towards him. Ill-mannered though he may be, on occasion, but this man that she loved had a good heart and Sansa almost feared how easy it was to forgive him anything, as if her heart and mind did so before she could even realize. It didn’t take much longer for the room to fill, more and more joining until they had a group surrounding the table.

Sansa stood on one side of Jon and Arya on the other, while Bran remained by the fire and Gendry hovered somewhere near to her sister. Theon was close to her left, looking ill at ease yet determined all the same. His eyes flitted to Bran every so often, remorse deep in their depths. The others gathered, wilding next to ironborn next to northman next to Lannister. All disagreements set aside for the good of humanity. The tension thick within the room was born of uncertainty and fear, not dislike.

None knew what they would face when the battle came to their doorstep. Not truly. They could listen to story upon story but it wouldn’t change a thing. No one could truly know until they looked the enemy in the face and began fighting. She couldn’t help but wonder how many they would lose, not just out of those gathered here but throughout the castle. Sansa wished that she could take Jon’s hand, clenching her hands at her sides to control the impulse. Once he called the meeting to order, every eye fell upon him as a silent spell over them all.

“I know that this may seem daunting,” Jon said, leaning forward to brace his hands upon the table. “Some of you might be wondering if we have a chance of winning this battle. It is true that the odds aren’t in our favor.”

_ Battles have been won against greater odds. _

Sansa blinked as the memory pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. It seemed so long ago, that argument between them. Nearly a lifetime. That person she was then could have never imagined ending up here now.

“But we are long past odds, in truth. I believe that we can withstand what is coming if we don’t allow ourselves to be distracted by our chances. Stranger things have happened.”

Her eyes lifted, catching on Tyrion’s without meaning to. Jon’s words rang true. How could anyone anticipate not one but two Lannisters taking up residence in Winterfell, both ready to defend it with their lives.

_ What would you think of this, Father? _

Sansa couldn’t help but wonder silently. What would Robb think? Her mother? Would they be proud? She liked to think that they would be. Their legacy was freedom for the North but there would be no independence if they were all dead.

“Now, we can’t beat them in a straight fight,” Jon said, turning his attention to the map upon the table and the bone chips that represented two different armies. Ivory for the dead and onyx for the living.

“So what can we do?” Jaime questioned.

As Jon began explaining the battle strategy, Sansa listened with one ear while glancing around at the others. They listened with rapt attention, showing him the respect that he was due. Yet there was still a measure of distrust in the northerns’ eyes. They had yet to forgiven him for bending the knee to Daenerys. If she did not know the truth of it, she’d share their resentment. Sansa hated that he bore it in silence, enduring their fury in order to protect them all. A part of her wanted to declare his true loyalty here and now simply to shield him from their suspicions but it would be a foolish mistake.

“It isn’t just dragonglass that kills the wights, but fire as well,” Jon said, his words cutting through her thoughts. “When the time comes, we will light up the trenches using pots of pitch.

“Where is the Targaryen queen and her dragons?” another lord spoke up.

Jon’s eyes swung towards Tyrion just as he exchanged a wary look with Missandei.

“Queen Daenerys left to tend to her dragons several days ago,” Sansa said, speaking up when no one else would. “She was caught out with them when the long night began. There is little else that we know.”

“She may yet return,” Ser Jorah spoke up, his eyes fixing upon Sansa. “I would not discount her from the battle.”

Sansa stared back at him, sensing Jon grow stiff at her side.

“We will pray for her safe return, Ser Jorah,” she assured him, though the words tasted bitter upon her tongue. “But is it not better to plan for her absence than lose more forces than necessary because she and her dragons are not around to help?”

He didn’t answer, worry crossing his face that she could hardly blame him for. Sansa knew that her father banished this man long ago but his loyalty to the Dragon Queen ran deep, that much she could see. If it was Jon who ran off into the wilds of the North just as a lasting darkness fell over the lands, she would be fraught with worry. Tension eased from her shoulders as Ser Jorah offered a nod, likely knowing there was little other choice.

“I will signal for the fires to be lit,” Davos offered.

“As will I,” Tyrion spoke up, stepping away from the table to pour a glass of wine for himself. “I’m rather adept at waving a torch.”

“I remember,” Davos said, more than a touch of resentment in his voice.

Sansa pressed her lips together, refusing to think of green flames and growled words from a scarred man. Sandor Clegane was somewhere in Winterfell at this very moment, having refused the chance to partake in the war council. She wondered if he remembered that night as viscerally as she did. It was quite clear that Ser Davos hadn’t forgotten.

“There has to be more than just holding off the wights,” Brienne said.

Arya nodded in agreement, leaning forward in a very similar position to Jon.

“What of the White Walkers?”

“The Night King made them all. They follow his command,” Jon said.

“Then getting to him should be our first priority,” Tyrion said as he returned to the table with a full cup. 

“So we ask him to present himself for killing?” Jaime said, a scoff upon his lips. “He’ll never expose himself.”

Sansa glanced over at Jon, wondering if he had an answer for that as well. His eyes met hers before she could look away, something like hesitation in their depths. She did not have to wonder why for long.

“I’ve considered it,” he said, straightening up. “One thought keeps returning to me. Ramsay.”

She held his gaze as a sharp intake of breath rose up to her left. Sansa knew that Theon felt the same chill at the name but she could nearly see past the fear and anger to what Jon was getting at.

“In the battle we fought, he used what I wanted to draw me in and I fell for it. I nearly died for it,” Jon said, his eyes returning to the table. “If we can figure out what the Night King wants-”

“You might be able to lure him in,” Sansa finished for him.

He looked to her again, nodding briefly before glancing away.

“What can we use to trap him?” Brienne asked.

“Me.”

They all turned as one, their attention falling upon Bran where he sat silently until this moment.

“Why?” Sam questioned. “What does he want?”

“An endless night. He wants to erase this world and I am it’s memory.”

They all considered it for a long moment, his words haunting their thoughts until Sam spoke again.

“That’s what death is, isn’t it? Forgetting and being forgotten,” he glanced around at all of them, more certainty in his eyes. “If we forget where we’ve been and what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore. Just animals.”

He looked back to Bran, nodding at him.

“Your memories don’t come from books. Your stories aren’t just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I’d start with you.”

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asked.

Bran reached down, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a handprint marked into his forearm.

“He’s left his mark on me,” he said in that same monotone voice. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypts, with the others,” Jon said.

Sansa looked towards him, something tugging on the edge of her mind. A feeling of discomfort at the idea of it.

“No,” Bran said. “I won’t be hiding and no one should go into the crypts anyhow.”

“Why not?” Missandei asked, looking confused since she planned to seek refuge down there with the rest.

Bran didn’t look away from Jon, his gaze as intense as ever.

“Hardhome.”

Tormund let out a low curse as Jon’s face paled the slightest bit.

“What’s that?” Jorah asked.

“A settlement North of the Wall, belonged to my people,” Tormund said. “They ambushed us there, killed hundreds of us.”

“And the Night King…” Jon trailed off, realization dawning upon his face as he looked to Bran. “He raised the fallen without touching a single one of them.”

“That sounds handy,” Tyrion said in a deadpan, taking a long drink of his wine.

Sansa swallowed hard, realizing now why it was a terrible idea to bring anyone down there during the battle.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Varys said, undoubtedly speaking up to voice the obvious. “But are the crypts not filled with generations of dead Starks going back thousands of years?”

“They’d have to be dust by now,” Jaime said with a frown.

“Not all of them,” Sansa countered, thinking of Rickon.

Jon straightened his shoulders, calling the attention back to him once more.

“Wherever we send those who cannot fight,” he said, looking to Bran. “You must go there.”

“I cannot, if I’m to lure the Night King out into the open. You said it yourself, we have to give him what he wants if we have any chance of killing him,” Bran said simply. “It should be the godswood.”

“He’s right,” Sansa said begrudgingly, shaking her head at the sight of Jon’s heated stare directed her way. “I like it even less than you but a trap cannot be sprung without bait.”

“He’s your-” Jon quickly caught himself as her eyes widened. “He’s  _ our  _ brother.”

“He’ll be protected,” Arya spoke up.

Her hand went to the Valyrian steel dagger that was strapped to her sword belt.

“Not by you alone,” Sansa said.

“I’ll be there,” Theon finally spoke.

Sansa’s eyes flitted to him only to see that he was looking Bran’s way.

“I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.”

Bran gave him a slow nod of acceptance.

“And me as well,” Jon said.

Sansa expected that even less than Theon. She had a feeling that Jon would want to be at the very front of the fighting, not hidden away with Bran.

“The more Valyrian steel there, the better,” Jon said, though she could hear the reluctance in his voice.

“Is there dragonglass to spare?” Sansa asked, looking to Gendry.

He shifted uncomfortable on the spot, clearly not prepared to be the focus of her attention. Arya nudged him none-too-gently when his silence stretched on, everyone staring at him expectantly.

“A little, I s’pose,” he said, his cheeks growing red.

“Those who aren’t fighting should still be armed,” Sansa said, aware of the stiffness in Jon’s shoulders at her words. “As a last, and hopefully unnecessary, resort.”

No one denied her and she glanced to Gendry once more, awaiting a nod before looking away. A pause filled the room, everyone glancing at one another quietly until Davos spoke as well.

“The ground forces and the men on the walls will hold them back as long as we can.”

Jon nodded in agreement as they all looked his way once more.

“The Unsullied and the northern forces will protect the gates,” he said, pointing to the innermost chips. “And the mounted Dothraki will protect their flanks and do their best to prevent wights from surrounding the castle.”

At that, Jon took a step back from the table, making it clear that was the totality of it. As if stirred by the sudden empty silence, Ghost lifted his head from his paws and rose to his feet, nudging at Sansa’s side with his nose.

“You’ve forgotten your best fighter,” she said, placing her hand upon his head.

Jon looked their way, fondness filling his gaze as he glanced from her to Ghost and back.

“He’ll protect you,” he said.

Sansa wanted to argue, to tell him that Ghost ought to be with him, but she had the feeling that neither man nor direwolf would allow it.

“Very well,” she said with a nod, noting his relief as she agreed.

“We’re all going to die,” Tormund announced, no trace of fear in his voice.

Jon sent a dark look his way, nearly bringing a hysterical laugh to Sansa’s lips.

“Get some rest, all of you,” Jon said, looking around at each gathered face. “We’ll have work to do come morning.”

That was the only dismissal that they needed. Sansa watched as they began to disperse before stepping away from Jon, rounding the table.

“Lord Tyrion.”

He turned around as she called his name, a surprised look upon his face.

“Lady Stark,” he said, stepping back towards her.

Sansa glanced away from him, waiting for the room to empty of nearly all the rest. Only Jon, Bran, Arya, Davos, and Gendry remained but she turned away from them, focusing her attention upon Tyrion.

“I know that you wish to fight as you did in the Battle of the Blackwater,” she said quietly for his ears alone, twisting her hands nervously in her skirts. “I do not think that is a good idea.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows rose even higher.

“Is that so?” he said.

Sansa nodded once, trying to find the right way to speak her thoughts.

“There are three people in this castle that know your sister best,” she said, resignation in her voice. “Your brother is one of them and you and I are the others. If we survive this war, there will be another to come. Jaime is going to be fighting where the battle is thickest. I don’t need to tell you what that may mean.”

Tyrion nodded, a look of dread passing over his face yet he seemed to appreciate her candor nonetheless.

“And yourself?” he asked.

“I won’t go south,” Sansa said, determination in her voice. “You will be needed in the fight against your sister. I don’t doubt your bravery but dying here will serve no one and might even prove detrimental.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but then Sansa didn’t expect him to be. Her words weren’t enough to bring him around but she planted the seed and that was enough for her.

“Think on it, my lord. That is all I wish to say.”

Tyrion nodded, lowering himself into a bow.

“Your words are wise enough that I fear I have little choice in the matter, my lady,” he said, straightening up. “I will consider it.”

Sansa watched as he turned away, keeping her eyes upon him until he was gone from the room.

“If only the Night King could be swayed with words,” Arya said, the slightest bit of amusement in her voice. “I might have to convince Jon to put you on the front lines.”

“If only,” Jon said, looking at her with something like approval in his eyes as she turned to face them with a roll of her eyes and a tired smile.

Arya turned to Gendry, eyeing him up and down.

“Have you finished my weapon?” she demanded of him.

Jon’s eyes flitted to them, narrowing every so slightly as he glanced between the two. 

“I do have many weapons to make, you know,” Gendry said, the slightest trace of exasperation in his voice.

“I requested it days ago,” Arya said coolly.

“And do you see a dead army on our doorstep yet?”

With a scoff, she marched past him towards the door and Gendry soon followed, frustration clear in every step that he took. Davos simply looked amused while Jon seemed as if he smelled something foul, looking their way long after they were gone.

“You knew of this?” he asked.

“I suspected,” Sansa said simply, clasping her hands before her. “You know how Arya is.”

A scowl formed upon Jon’s face as he shook his head, glancing away from her.

“Do you need help to your chambers, Bran?” he asked.

“I’ll see to the lad,” Davos spoke up.

Sansa half-turned towards the door, knowing that it was time to take her leave. Ghost moved to her side, clearly ready to follow, but he was not the only wolf she wanted at her side that night. Her eyes remained trained upon Jon until he glanced her way again.

“And you?” he asked, as if he did not already know the answer.

“I suppose you may escort me,” Sansa said, watching as he walked closer to her. “If only to aid you in your quest to feel useful.”

Jon glowered at her as she pressed her lips together to keep from smiling, taking his arm once he offered it up to her.

“I envy your good spirits,” he said once they were away from any listening ears.

Sansa let out a soft sigh, shaking her head.

“There will be plenty of time for fear,” she said, squeezing his arm lightly. “If these are to be our final days, I don’t want to spend them cowering away.”

Jon reached up, catching her fingers that were wrapped around his arm as he paused in the middle of the shadowed corridor.

“I can’t think of that,” he said, shaking his head. “These are not your final days.”

Sansa could hear the desperation in his voice and lifted her hand to his cheek.

“Nor yours, I hope,” she said, looking into his eyes.

Jon leaned in, careless of where they stood as he brushed his lips over hers, his arm winding around her waist. Sansa submitted to the kiss all too easily, curling her fingers into his cloak. When he broke away, touching his forehead to hers, he let out a soft, reluctant sigh.

“The trenches are not yet finished,” he admitted, pulling away to look into her eyes. “I plan to gather every man I can find to help.”

Sansa knew exactly what that meant, his name slipping out of her mouth in a gasp. She didn’t like the sound of anyone venturing outside of the walls of Winterfell, much less him. Jon eyed her cautiously, as if he expected her argument.

“I cannot ask men to risk themselves if I’m not willing to do the same.”

She swallowed hard, knowing that he was right.

“Not now,” Sansa said quietly.

They stared at one another for a long moment, her eyes pleading with him to stay. Jon relented with a slow nod, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

“Not now,” he agreed.

With a soft sigh of relief, Sansa took his hand and turned to lead him through the keep. Ghost moved past them to curl before the fire in her solar, giving them little attention as Sansa drifted into her bedchamber and Jon remained behind to bolt the door and remove his cloak. She did the same, laying her own cloak over the chair at her vanity before sitting to release the pins from her hair until it fell loose about her shoulders. Jon sat at the end of her bed, his eyes fixed upon her as he kicked his boots away before bracing his hands upon his knees.

“I’ve been preparing for this fight for years.”

Sansa hesitated for a moment before standing, crossing over to him before turning around. She pulled her hair over her shoulder in a wordless request that he understood.

“How do you feel? Now that it’s nearly here?” she asked as he deftly untied her laces.

Jon didn’t answer right away, carefully loosening her gown until it slipped down her shoulders. His hands were warm as he tugged it down and Sansa allowed it to fall over her hips and pool on the ground at her feet.

“Odd,” he finally said, his thumb brushing over the juncture of her neck and shoulder where the collar of her gown pressed a line into her skin. “I dislike the idea of simply waiting. There is a part of me that wants to take the fight to them, no matter how senseless it would be. The idea of having them so close to our home and our people, so close to  _ you _ … it bothers me.”

Sansa turned around, her eyes meeting his as she lifted her hands to frame his face.

“I’ve seen you fight,” she said, holding his gaze. “You are better than any I’ve witnessed before. I have faith that you can best any opponent if you put your mind to it.”

“This is not just any opponent,” Jon sighed, tilting his face into her hand as his eyes fluttered shut.

“No, it is the most important of them all. You will not fail, Jon. I believe in you as I have never believed in anything before.”

He let out a sharp exhale before gathering her close, his lips finding hers as if he knew the way without looking. Sansa slid her arms about his shoulders, responding eagerly. They were upon the bed before she knew it, his hands tangled in her hair as she straddled his lap. Sansa’s trembling fingers worked at his jerkin, unfastening it as quickly as she could. Jon freed his arms from the sleeves before tossing it away, his tunic the next to go. Her hands explored warm skin, smooth in some places and marked with scars in others.

Once Jon untied the ribbons on her shift, Sansa yanked it over her head with no hesitation and cupped his face once more, quite addicted to the feeling of his lips upon hers even as his beard scratched against her soft skin and rubbed it raw. As he tipped backwards, Sansa’s hair fell like a curtain around their faces and she whimpered as his hand stroked over her skin, finding her breast and kneading at it before teasing her nipple, gently pinching and rolling it between finger and thumb.

His tongue delved into her mouth as she gasped, sending warm shivers curling through her as she traced her fingers over each of his ribs before pushing up to sit. Stroking one hair through her hair, she pushed it away from her face and balanced the other hand upon his chest. Jon gazed up at her as if he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Sansa sank her teeth into her lower lip, his eyes taking it in with need in their depths. It was nothing compared to the groan that slipped from his mouth as she rolled her hips, grinding down on the length of him that she could feel pressed against her heated core.

“I crave this,” she admitted breathlessly, tipping her head back as she rocked against him. “Your touch and your closeness. I think that you must be etched upon my very soul.”

He sat up suddenly, capture her nipple in his mouth as he gripped at her hips, drawing a cry from her. The fire in her blood only burned hotter as his hand reached between them to delve into her smallclothes, stroking at her folds and tracing teasing circles around her clit.

“Don’t tease,” Sansa gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair and scraping over his scalp. “I-I need you now. All of you, Jon.”

“You have me,” he breathed into her skin, kissing his way up to her throat. “Every piece of me that I can give belongs to you, only you, Sansa.  _ My _ Sansa.”

Her breath stuttered as he pressed a finger into her, rubbing at her clit with the heel of his hand. A shudder rocked through her as she worked herself against his hand, her body taught and desperate for release.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, kissing, nipping, and sucking at a spot on her neck. “My sweet girl.”

Sansa whined, warmth filling her to the brim as another of his fingers joined the first, thrusting in and out of her.

“I need more,” she nearly sobbed.

“Shh,” he soothed her, brushing a hand over her head before nearly effortlessly flipping them over until her back met the mattress.

Sansa made quick work of her smallclothes, letting them fall to the ground as he stood to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Her legs fell open to accommodate him as she reached her hand out, tugging him into the cradle of her hips. Jon pulled one of her legs up to wrap around him, using his other hand to guide his cock until he was pressing into her slowly. Sansa tossed her head back, her hands gripping at the furs beneath her as the feeling overwhelmed her, just as it had every time before.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, lifting his hand to stroke her hair away from her face.

Sansa nodded, unable to quite find the words she needed to reassure him. Jon seemed to understand, bracing his hands into the mattress as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back into her. Her hands flew to his back, gripping at him as her body accepted him easily. It was as easy as breathing now, allowing him to be with her this way. Sansa meant it when she told him that she craved this. Not just the feeling of him inside of her, but this closeness. This intimacy. The knowledge that he wanted her for no other reason than that she was Sansa.  _ His  _ Sansa.

It didn’t take long to work herself up one more as she snaked a hand between them, rubbing at her clit in tight circles. Her peak washed over her far too quickly, Jon’s lips swallowing her moans and cries as he kissed her deeply. The feeling of her coming around him only seemed to spur him on, his hips moving at a quick pace as she turned her face away to pepper kisses over his shoulders, her nails carving angry red lines over the pale skin of his back. Then he suddenly slowed, wrapping an arm about her waist and sitting back on his heels, bringing her with him.

Sansa’s hands flew to brace herself upon his shoulders, her eyes widening at the sudden change in position before he sank into her even deeper than before, drawing a soft moan from her lips. Jon encouraged her to move with him, rocking her hips with his hands until she caught onto the rhythm, ignoring how her thighs burned as she felt even closer to him than before, her breasts rubbing over his chest and their lips mere inches apart as they stared into one another’s eyes.

“I love you,” Jon said, closing his eyes and letting his forehead gently fall against hers as they moved as one without ceasing. “Gods, Sansa, I love you more… more than I can even say.”

She lifted her hand, cradling his head close to hers as a feeling of utter and complete adoration overcame her.

“I love you,” she whispered, her breath catching as he reached between them to brush his thumb over her still sensitive clit.

He allowed himself to be guided to his back, never faltering in his ministrations as she sat up, rocking and twisting her hips, so very close to the edge once more, though she didn’t want to tip over unless he was there with her. As the tension in his body grew, his hand gripping at her hip tightly as the other rubbed fast circles over her clit, Sansa scraped her nails lightly over his abdomen, drawing a growl from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Come on, Jon,” she urged him, trembling with the effort of delaying her release. “Let go, my love. Spill within me and make me yours in every way.”

Jon groaned, his head tossing back and his thumb pressing against her clit. Sansa she let out a hoarse cry, her peak finally rushing over her just as he panted out her name, his hands keeping her hips moving as she rode him through his own release. As soon as he allowed her to still, she fell against his chest, her head lying just beneath his chin. His arms wrapped around her, their legs entangled as he stroked his fingers through her hair. They paid no mind to their sweat-slick bodies, simply too desperate to be close.

“You are mine,” he murmured after a long stretch of silence as they caught their breath, tipping her chin up so that she would look up at him. “As I am yours.”

His words sounded so close to wedding vows that Sansa couldn’t help but shiver, maneuvering herself until she could capture his lips with her own. They remained like that, kissing languidly until she rolled away and made her way on shaky legs to the water basin to clean herself. Once Sansa returned to him, Jon slipped beneath the furs and opened his arms to her, pulling her against his chest once more.

“I know that you’ll go soon,” she murmured softly after a while, stroking her fingers over his chest. “All I ask is that you wait until I am asleep, so that I will not have to miss you for long.”

Jon agreed without argument, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I sleep ill when I’m not with you,” he admitted.

“As do I,” Sansa said, closing her eyes. “My ghosts find me easier when I sleep.”

The weight in her voice caused him to grow very still and the next words he spoke froze her in place as well.

“Sansa, what happened to Littlefinger?”

She swallowed hard, a part of her wishing that he hadn’t asked. Folding her hands over his chest, she looked up at him warily.

“I expected you to ask sooner than now,” she admitted, relieved by the lack of accusation in his eyes.

“I feared the implications of his absence,” he said, reaching up to capture a lock of her hair between his fingers.

Jon didn’t twist or tug, simply stroking at the silky auburn strands as he awaited her answer patiently.

“We put him on trial before the Northern lords and Lord Royce of the Vale,” Sansa said, looking away from him.

Her eyes fixed on the scar over his heart, the one that killed him. She resisted the urge to cover it with her hand, allowing it to ground her.

“We?”

“Arya, Bran, and I,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. “I brought evidence forward first, of what I saw him to do Aunt Lysa, then it was Bran. He… well I’m sure you can imagine what he did.”

Jon didn’t say anything, simply humming.

“Though he denied it, he had no true defense for himself. Only that he loved my mother and then he loved me. So I pronounced his sentence and Arya… Arya followed through.”

After a moment of tense silence, Jon tipped her chin up until she met his gaze.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

Sansa shook her head, chasing away the emotions that Petyr Baelish’s specter wrought upon her.

“It’s over,” she said. “He was conspiring against us all. It was the only thing we could do.”

Jon hushed her, bringing her up for a soft kiss.

“I trust your judgement,” he murmured, cradling her face in both of his hands.

Sansa felt a peculiar sense of relief rush over her, burying her face in his shoulder as she huddled close to him, nearly overwhelmed by the strength of her love for him that had taken root in her heart. He kept his promise to her as until she drifted away, though there was nothing to be done for how soon she woke, the bed cold next to her and the chamber almost entirely dark. Sansa sat up, her body aching as she suppressed a grimace at the odd feeling, reaching back to press her hand over her back. Though she had no idea of what time it might be, she slipped into a night shift and dressing gown before leaving her chambers to search for a maid.

Before long, she found herself submerged in warm water with her damp hair spilling out of over her shoulders and her head tipped back against the lip of the tub. The water didn’t even begin to cool before she heard the sound of her outer door opening very quietly, as if someone was sneaking in. Her heart flipped in her chest as she realized that she forgot to bolt it in her rush for relief from the ache in her bones. To her utter relief, it was Jon who made his way through the door, sweat and dirt streaked across his skin and staining his hands. His every step screamed his exhaustion yet his face brightened ever so slightly at the sight of her in the tub.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, shedding his cloak and jerkin before dragging a chair over to sit beside her.

Sansa shrugged her shoulders, smiling up at him. She was grateful for the murkiness of the water, created by the scented oils she used. Though she wasn’t entirely uncomfortable being unclothed around him, there was something different about nudity when he was fully dressed next to her.

“My back is aching terribly,” she admitted, causing concern to rise in his eyes. “Nothing to be worried about. Maester Wolkan warned me that my body’s changes would cause certain pains. He assured me that a warm bath could ease them somewhat.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Jon asked, reaching out to brush his thumb over her cheek.

Sansa shook her head, gazing up at him fondly.

“I suppose it’s a small price to pay for the sake of our child,” she said, reaching up to press her hand over his, caring little for how dirty it was.

Jon blinked at her, surprise flitting over his expression as if her words were the last thing he expected to hear. Sansa couldn’t imagine why, giving him a confused look.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s… I just… you are truly happy, to bear my child.  _ Our _ child.”

Sansa allowed a smile to pull at her lips.

“Of course I am,” she said, though she knew why he might think otherwise. “It scared me at first, especially when I thought that…”

Sansa shook her head, refusing to mention the Dragon Queen here, in this moment.

“Does it not make you happy?” she asked.

“It does,” Jon said quickly.

She exhaled with relief, not wanting to hear that the idea of it upset him.

“This child brings me joy,” Sansa said, pressing her hand over her stomach beneath the water. “Joy and hope, for the future. Something to look to after all the fighting has ended.”

Jon looked upon her with awe once more and before she could ask, he nearly knocked the chair over as he knelt down to press a hurried kiss to her lips. Sansa laughed at his clumsiness, though she kissed him in return, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. He tasted of salt and ale, though she cared little for it. All she wanted was to feel like this forever. As if his thoughts echoed her own, Jon drew away and stared deeply into her eyes before speaking the last words she expected to hear.

“Marry me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's been quite a few days since the last update and I'm so sorry for taking so long. That finale episode knocked me off kilter for a while but I'm hopefully back on track.
> 
> I love you all and I can't thank you enough for your amazing response to this fic. I hope that you like this chapter!

Sansa could feel eyes upon her as she sat by the hearth in her chambers, focusing entirely upon the stitching in her lap. Jon was away handling a disagreement between a company of northmen and a group of Dothraki, an unsurprising development considering the worry and fear that settled over all with the unending darkness. There was little for her to do but wait for the battle, so she chose to sew. Her fingers moved quickly in a rhythm that she knew well and her stitches were as neat and even as ever, in spite of the tangle of emotions within her chest.

_Marry me._

His words still lingered in her mind, making her heart flutter each time she recalled them. It had been a while since she took a needle to cloth yet she could hardly feel the ache in her fingers. Even when she inhaled deeply as she remembered the bright hope in Jon’s eyes and the open desire in his face. He looked younger than he had in so long and so incredibly content. Water had sloshed onto the floor as she sat up abruptly, grasping at his hand with both of hers and whispering out his name with awe and uncertainty all at once.

She had been entirely unable to refuse him, not that she wanted to. It was all too easy to say yes, to bring a smile to his face and choke out tears at his breathless admission of love. The floor had dried but her mattress and furs were likely still damp from his impatience, allowing her no chance to dry herself before hauling her out of the tub and carrying her to the bed. The aching spot between her legs twinged as she remembered the urgency of his lovemaking, yet she’d been whispering her encouragements the entire time.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Brienne asked once she unthinkingly let out another sigh.

Sansa looked up, wrenched from the memory of Jon settled over her with blazing eyes, wringing every bit of pleasure out of her before kissing her fiercely and spilling within her.

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head a little to chase away the memory, not that it would go far. “I simply… I…”

Sansa trailed off, setting cloth down and heaving out yet another sigh. She’d called Brienne into her chambers for a reason and it wasn’t to drink wine by the hearth, as nice as it was to have the company. Each time she tried to rally her thoughts, Jon invaded them and stole her attention away. She could have clouted him if it wasn’t entirely unintentional, and if he weren’t so far away.

“I must tell you something,” she admitted.

Brienne’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly as she set aside her cup, leaning forward to show that she was ready to hear anything. Sansa wondered if anyone could be ready for what she had to say, though if Arya took it well then perhaps there was hope for anyone.

“I am… with child,” she said slowly.

Silence fell as Brienne stared and stared, shifting in her seat as her mouth opened before snapping closed again. Her eyes darted about Sansa’s face as she looked for any trace of a jest before dropping to her midsection, where the swell of her stomach was hidden by a cleverly laced dress.

“Are you certain, my lady?” she asked.

Sansa smiled slightly, nodding her head.

“Quite,” she said, lifting her hand to settle over the small bump beneath her gown.

Brienne nodded, a warm, nearly fond look passing over her face before it creased with confusion once more.

“If I my ask…” she said, trailing off as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to speak the words.

“You want to know who the father is,” Sansa guessed.

There was a wary look in Brienne’s eyes, as if she expected the worst. There could only be one name lingering in her mind that would give her such a grave reaction.

“It’s not Littlefinger’s.”

Brienne’s relief was quite visible. Her shoulders slumped as she let out a sigh of her own.

“I am quite relieved, my lady,” she admitted.

“I blame you little for it,” Sansa said, smiling slightly. “You are not alone in your relief.”

Brienne nodded before giving her a curious look.

“If it isn’t his…”

Sansa looked down at her lap, inhaling deeply and clipping the thread before shaking out the tunic. It was a new creation of grey and white, with two different family sigils stitched along the collar.

“First, there is something that you must know about Robert’s Rebellion,” she said, folding the tunic carefully. “And about my aunt, Lyanna.”

*****

As soon as she stepped outside, Sansa saw the snow falling and stilled in place, rendered breathless by the sight of it. The flurries caught in her nearly unbound hair and accumulated all too easily on the ground. Lifting her hand slowly, she pulled the glove from it before reaching out to let the flakes kiss upon her pale skin. So transfixed by the sight of it, she didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps until two hands closed over her own, trapping it within their warmth. Her eyes flitted to Jon’s, suddenly aware of the tears upon her cheeks as she saw the concern lining his face.

“Sansa…”

She grasped his hand with her own, taking a step towards him as she drew strength from his touch.

“It snowed that night,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “With-with Ramsay.”

Alarm and horror flitted through Jon’s eyes.

“We don’t have to-”

Sansa shook her head, cutting him off before he could say a thing.

“It makes me think of Father,” she said, tilting her head back towards the sky.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon do the same.

“I think that he was there with me that night,” Sansa told him, unable to keep from blinking as the snow fell upon her face. “And I think that he is here with us tonight.”

She lowered her head again, her eyes taking in every inch of Jon’s upturned face. The line of his jaw hidden beneath the dark beard. The slope of his nose, the red of his cheeks, the sweep of his lashes, the pout of his lips. A gift to her in every way, though he couldn’t possibly know it.

“I knew that I wanted to wed you long before you asked,” Sansa said, moving even closer to him.

Jon’s head dropped, his gaze meeting hers as something like surprise flitted through his eyes.

“I felt so guilty for it,” she said, dropping her gaze to the straps of his cloak. “When Bran told us… I felt relieved.”

She whispered the confession as if it was the most shameful thing that she could utter. When Jon lifted his hand and pressed it over her cheek, it took a moment for her to look up at him.

“I felt it as well,” he admitted.

Relief unfurled in her chest as she leaned in, touching her forehead to his.

“Father once promised me that he would make me a match with someone who was brave, gentle, and strong,” she said softly, leaning into him as snow fell all around them. “I think that you are everything he imagined for me.”

Jon exhaled slowly, his shoulders settling with a lightness to him as if her words eased a burden that he carried.

“Thank you.”

His words were full of meaning, trembling as they were. His fingers wove into her hair as he laid a soft kiss upon her lips, caring little for who might see. For they had nothing to fear that night. Not when the godswood awaited them.

“Did you tell Ser Davos?” Sansa asked as she pulled away, dropping her hands only to replace her glove.

“Aye,” Jon said with a nod, still looking as if he was overcome with emotion. “Brienne?”

She nodded, a smile blooming upon her face. Her breath hitched in her throat as Jon held his hand out in offering yet she did not hesitate to take it. His own lips twitched into a grin before he turned away, surging forward. A laugh slipped from Sansa’s lips as she darted to his side, their hands clasped tightly together. They could have found their way to the heart tree with their eyes closed, but the torches lit up near it helped guide their way as they hurried along, desperate to have it all said and done.

Arya was there already, along with Bran, Davos, and Brienne. The latter two still looked slightly stunned, as if they still worked to wrap their minds around the sudden shift in reality. The sight of Sansa and Jon together seemed to help them along, much to her relief. As if seeing them this way made it all fit together. Arya’s eyes flitted between them as if she couldn’t quite decide what to think. Sansa assumed that she’d have the hardest time with it, considering how close she was to Jon when they were children. Yet she was there and hadn’t yet spoken out against them.

“Are you warm enough, my lady?” Brienne asked.

Sansa gave her a smile, nodding her head. She had the sense that her sworn shield’s protective instincts would increase tenfold now that she knew of her condition. Sansa could hardly bring herself to feel bothered by it. The idea of her child being protected by someone so worthy of the position could only bring her comfort.

“Thank you. Brienne,” she said, meaning every word of it for many reasons.

Before Brienne could answer, the sound of someone approaching reached their ears and they all turned to watch as Sam made his way into the clearing with a cloak drawn tight around him to ward out the cold. Jon huffed a soft laugh at the sight of his red nose and ears.

“Sorry,” Sam said, shivering on the spot though he’d certainly seen worse weather north of the Wall. “Little Sam wouldn’t go down easy and I stayed to help Gilly. The dark’s confused him.”

“It’s done the same for us all,” Davos said.

“Perhaps the kitchens could provide a cup of warm milk in the evenings, if you need it,” Sansa offered, reaching up to clasp her hand over Jon’s arm. “It always calmed Rickon when nothing else would work.”

Jon shifted next to her and she could see Arya heave a breath from the corner of her eye. Sadness touched her heart as she remembered her wild-eyed little brother, always tearing through Winterfell.

“I’ll tell Gilly about it,” Sam said, looking grateful.

Sansa gave him a small smile and a nod only to look up when she saw Jon’s head tilt towards her. There was something shining in his eyes. A look of wonder that she couldn’t puzzle together. When Davos cleared his throat, all turned to face him.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“There’s not a septon,” Arya said, reminding them all.

“Winterfell doesn’t have one at the moment,” Sansa said, recalling the chaos of the Seven in the wake of what happened to Baelor’s sept.

She looked at Jon once more, seeing a wary indecision written upon his face.

“We come before the old gods,” she reminded him, confident in her words. “There’s little more that we need.”

Jon met her eyes once more and jerked his head in a nod.

“It’s good enough for me.”

When he started towards the tree, Sansa didn’t follow, tugging her hand from his grasp only to receive a confused look.

“I must be escorted to you,” she said, urging him forward with a flick of her hand.

He frowned a little but still made his way towards Sam, standing to his left. Before Sansa could even look to Bran, Arya crossed over to her side without a moment of hesitation. Casting her a puzzled look of her own, Sansa saw only satisfaction in her sister’s eyes.

“Who says it can’t be me?” she asked.

The corner of Sansa’s lips tugged upwards as she looked to Bran, who gave her a slow nod. It was all that she needed, taking Arya’s arm when she offered it.

“How very odd,” Sansa said thoughtfully.

“Let’s not start speaking of things that are odd,” Arya said, cutting her eyes from Sansa to Jon purposefully. “We’ll be here for hours.”

Sansa pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, nodding her head in agreement.

“Wise words from a strange girl,” she said.

“Do shut up,” Arya hissed, though there was a smile pulling at her own lips. “I’d like to get you married before we start losing limbs to the cold.”

Sansa breathed in deeply, nodding her head. Their walk was short but slow until they reached the small crowd at the heart tree. A moment’s silence turned to two and every eye turned to Jon, just as Sansa remembered that he hadn’t been to a ceremony in their childhood. It was an honor reserved for her father’s trueborn children. Her stomach twisted at the reminder of how separated he’d been from them all and it took every ounce of her restraint not to gather him into her arms when she saw the stricken look in his eyes.

“You ask who comes before the gods,” Arya said quietly.

Sansa squeezed her arm in gratitude as tears stung at her eyes. A sudden craving built within her, to give Jon all the love that she could for everything he’d been denied as a child. Jon steeled himself and nodded, inhaling deeply before speaking in a low voice.

“Who comes before the gods?”

“Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed,” Arya said, her voice strong and unwavering. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Jon hesitated for another moment, his eyes flitting to Sansa. It would be the first time that he spoke his true title aloud. Sansa gave him a small nod of encouragement, hoping that he saw warmth in her eyes.

“I, Jon of House Targaryen, come to claim her.”

Another moment passed in silence and Sansa simply nudged Arya, not wanting to push Jon further.

“I, Arya of House Stark, sister of Sansa of House Stark, do give her. Lady Sansa, will you take this man?”

Sansa finally let go, stepping forward to hold her hand out to Jon. He took it with relief in his eyes, as if her touch soothed the uncertainty in his heart.

“I take this man,” she said softly, her eyes shining as she nodded at him.

Then she tilted her head towards the tree and he seemed to understand her wordless instruction, kneeling with her before it. Snow soaked into her dress quickly but she ignored it, bowing her head and closing her eyes. _Please,_ she prayed silently, though it had been so long since she truly prayed. _Let this last. Let it be good._ More poured forth, prayers for her child and for all who would fight in the coming war. For the man at her side and those who witnessed their union here.

Once she finished, Sansa squeezed his hand lightly and waited for him to do the same before pushing herself to stand. Jon helped her with one hand on her elbow and the other clasping hers and she gave him a smile before nodding at the cloak she wore. Though she was loathe to leave him unprotected in the elements, knowing that he may well catch a chill, there was little to be done for the tradition. It wouldn’t be complete unless he cloaked her, though he wore the garment she stitched for him herself back at Castle Black what felt like ages ago.

Jon stepped behind her, unclasping her cloak and handing it off to Arya before replacing it with his own. Sansa lifted her hands to grasp his as he tightened the straps about her chest, leaning back into him. Her eyes fluttered closed as he dropped a kiss to the side of her neck, one of his hands dropping to cradle the swell of her stomach. It felt all too intimate to happen in the eyes of those closest to them yet she couldn’t bring herself to end it, turning her head to skim her lips over his cheek.

“Do you remember that first night?” Sansa whispered, the words meant only for him. “When you asked what you were to me?”

Jon nodded, remaining silent as they both recalled that night.

“The truth is that… you are everything to me.”

He inhaled deeply at her words, hesitating only for a moment before turning her to face him. His hands cradled her face as if she was the most delicate thing he’d ever handled and there were tears gathered in his bright eyes as he stared at her with open awe. Sansa imagined that her own face looked similar, for she could hardly believe that such a man was now her husband. After all that she’d endured, the world had done her a kindness in bringing Jon back into her life, quite the unexpected comfort.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sansa nodded, stepping closer to him.

“I love you,” she murmured back, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his wrist.

Jon leaned in, brushing the softest, most tender of kisses over her lips. In spite of the snow that still fell around them, Sansa felt as if she could melt at the touch of his lips, an overwhelmed feeling rising in her chest and wrenching a sob from her throat as she tossed her arms about his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. Jon caught her with ease, a surprised noise rising in his throat.

“Sansa…” he said warily.

“I’m happy,” she mumbled before he could get the wrong idea from the tears that wet his jerkin.

He let out a sigh, holding her closer as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Good,” he said, cradling her head in his hand. “For I am happy as well.”

“We’re all happy for you both,” Davos interjected, pulling their attention away from one another. “But I believe Lady Arya has the right of it when it comes to this cold.”

Sansa nodded, remembering that Jon wore no cloak as Arya scowled at Ser Davos.

“I’m as much a lady as you are a king,” she muttered beneath her breath, shoving Sansa’s cloak into Jon’s arms before crossing to Bran’s chair.

“Stranger things have happened,” Sansa said lightly.

“I rather doubt that, my lady,” Davos said, giving her a warm look as they all set off to walk back to the castle.

The mood was light as they made their way, even Bran seemed more at ease despite the ever-present distance in his eyes. Sansa wished that she could have the brother she knew back with them, even if for one night. She would have him share their joy in this. Yet he only gazed back at her when she cast him a look, as if he knew the path of her thoughts. Sansa simply gave him a nod, grateful that he chose to be there at all. Once they reached the Great Keep, Sansa and Jon quickly found themselves alone as she murmured in his ear that his chambers would be a better option for them that night, considering that her bed was likely still damp.

It bothered her little that they would have no feast in honor of their wedding. The time for celebration would come later, when the war was won. All that Sansa wanted was her husband in her arms. The thought struck her as they made their way quickly through the corridors, their hands clasped tightly. Jon barely waited for the door to shut behind them before he gathered her in his arms, capturing her lips in a kiss. Sansa responded in kind, pressing herself close to him as her hands clutched at his shoulders.

His hand reached out, fumbling with the latch only to guide her towards his bedchamber as he stripped the cloak from her. Their gloves dropped to the floor as well, the warmth of the room surrounding them as a slow burning fire spread through her. They bumped into the doorway clumsily, sharing laughter between kisses as Sansa tried to unlace her own dress without pulling away from him. It proved far too difficult and she huffed, leaning away as her shaking fingers pulled uselessly at the stays.

“Let me,” Jon said, replacing her hands with his own. “My wife.”

There was a certain reverence in his voice that made her heart skip a beat. The truth hit her at that moment. The reality that they were truly wed, bound together in a way that no one could change. None could tear them apart now. Sansa pulled him in for another kiss before he even finished unlacing her gown, unable to resist.

“My husband,” she whispered against his lips.

Jon’s reaction was similar to her own, a groan muffled into their kiss as he gathered her closer. Sansa yanked at the ties of his jerkin, shoving it away once it was loose enough. His tunic quickly followed and only then did he manage to pull away long enough to undo her dress. Sansa shoved it down and stepped out of it, kicking her boots away just before he bore her back onto his bed. She arched into him as he kissed her deeply, hovering over her with his hands digging into the mattress on either side of her head, carefuly not to yank at her hair.

“I want-” Sansa panted against his mouth, unable to bring herself to say it as he kissed along her jaw.

“What?” Jon said, urging her along.

She twisted her hands into her shift, inching it up her thighs as a craving built within her. Color rose to her cheeks at the idea of asking him for what she wanted the most. Her septa would have shrieked at the idea of such thoughts crossing through Sansa’s mind, yet here she was wanting one thing more than any other right now.

“Your mouth,” she managed, tilting her head back as he skimmed his lips along the column of her throat.

Jon hummed into her skin, scraping his teeth over her pulse point. A soft moan passed her lips at the feeling and Sanas’s need only grew.

“On me,” she tried to clarify, her breaths coming out in short huffs as his fingers stroked up her thighs. “Oh my-my…”

Jon stilled as if he finally realized what she was trying to say. Drawing away, he gazed down at her with dark, hot eyes that sent a thrill through her.

“On your cunt?” he asked, his thumb tracing the crease of her thigh.

Her woman’s place clenched at his words, as if the anticipation of it was far too much. A whimper fell from her lips as she nodded, nearly desperate for it.

“Only if it’s what you want,” Sansa said, unwilling to force him into anything no matter how much she wanted it.

Jon looked at her with the most potent want in his eyes that she knew the answer to her own query without having to hear a verbal answer. Then he was dropping down her body, pushing her shift up to her chest as he lingered on the swell of her stomach, kissing it once, then twice, before dropping lower. Her smallclothes nearly tore as he rid her of them quickly, almost drawing a laugh from her. But she found little reason to laugh once he hooked her leg over his shoulder and put his mouth to her.

He took his time at first, tracing his tongue along her folds and dipping it into her entrance teasingly before his ministrations grew nearly feverish. Sansa’s cries were hoarse and desperate as she curled her fingers into his hair and lifted her hips to his mouth. His tongue swirled about her clit as one finger pressed into her, his moans urging her closer to a quick release as she tossed her head back and tugged at his dark locks. Jon seized her hip in his hand to keep her still as he flicked his tongue against her clit, drawing a cry of his name from her mouth.

It was only when he added another finger alongside the first and curled them within her that her release broke over her in waves of unadulterated pleasure. Her hips rolled and her teeth sank into her lower lip trap a shout on her tongue. Jon didn’t relent, kissing and licking his way through her peak until she shoved at his shoulders desperately, her body sinking back against the mattress bonelessly as he pulled away and trailed kisses over her inner thigh. Once he pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Sansa tugged her shift over her head and tossed it away, her chest rising and falling quickly as she fell back again.

“You never need worry about asking for that,” Jon murmured, trailing kisses along the valley of her breasts. “I would spend hours with my head between your thighs, sweet girl.”

Sansa hummed contentedly, reaching between them to stroke her hand over his cock through his breeches. A groan passed his lips as she quickly unlaced him though he had to lean away from her to kick away his boots and the rest of his clothing. Once he settled in the cradle of her hips once more, he guided himself to her entrance while gazing into her eyes, waiting for any sign of reluctance. Sansa nodded at him, color high in her cheeks and desire still swirling in her bright gaze.

Her leg curled around his hips as he pressed into her slowly, his eyes fluttering closed as if the feeling of it overwhelmed him as much as it did her. Sansa arched into him, her head falling back against the bed as she pressed her palms flat over his back. Jon let out a groan as she rolled her hips against his, her body still fluttering with the aftermath of her release. He set a slow pace, rocking into her with even movements of his hips. When he lifted his head for a kiss, Sansa slotted her lips over his all too eagerly. They kissed slowly and languidly, relishing in each second of it.

The coil in her lower belly built and built once more when his pace grew quicker. Before she could even consider touching herself, Jon’s hand snaked between them and his fingers swept over her clit, drawing a high-pitched moan from deep in her chest. She nipped at his lower lip, his groan resonating through her as he rubbed at her, his thrust growing more feverish. Words fell from his lips like rain, praising her beauty and letting her know just how good she felt, so warm and tight around his cock, how they fit perfectly together as if they were made for one another.

Sansa came a second time with his name a mantra on her lips, her nails scraping over his skin and drawing a hiss from his lips. Her hips lifted and rolled against his, urging him on towards his own release. As he spilled within her, she pressed kisses along the heated skin of his shoulder. Sansa would have been content to curl into his arms and give into the exhaustion that began taking root in her limbs but Jon pulled away and disappeared from the bed before she could, coming back with a damp cloth to wash away the mess between her thighs.

Only when he returned did she slip beneath the furs and curl into his arms, her head laid over his still thundering heart. Sansa traced nonsense patterns over his skin, her eyes slipping closed as she listened to the beat beneath her ear. Only when she heard his soft breaths even out did she push up on her elbow, her eyes tracing over his lax face. Sansa loved that he could relax so in her presence, enough to fall into a peaceful sleep. She pressed a kiss to his cheek before settling her head upon his chest, letting her eyes fall closed as she sought a peaceful slumber of her own.

*****

It was impossible to know how much time passed when the distant shouts woke them. Sansa gasped as Jon jerked up, displacing her from his arms. He pressed a hand to her shoulder in silent apology, panic crossing his face as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. Then he was scrambling from the bed, nearly falling to the floor in his haste. Sansa sat up slower, rubbing at her eyes before climbing out slower.

“What are you doing?” Jon said, frozen in the middle of pulling his tunic over his head.

Sansa gave him a puzzled look as she stuck her arms into the sleeves of her shift.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Sansa,” he said, shaking his head. “You should stay here.”

She stared at him with disbelief as another yell reached their ears.

“I’m not staying,” Sansa said determinedly, pulling her shift over her head.

Jon fixed her with a stern look, yanking his tunic into place before grabbing at his jerkin. Sansa didn’t hesitate to yank on her stockings before stepping into her dress.

“We have no way of knowing what’s happening out there,” he said, his fingers fumbling with the laces of his jerkin.

“Exactly,” Sansa said, pulling her hair from the collar of her dress before she began lacing up the side of it quickly. “Someone could be hurt.”

“Allow me to see what it is before you go running into the middle of it,” Jon said.

“Absolutely not.”

Jon looked all the more frustrated by her stubbornness and Sansa found herself wondering if they were really going to spend the hours after their wedding fighting about something like this.

“Why are you determined to be reckless?” he demanded, shoving his feet into his boots.

Sansa huffed, pausing in the midst of lacing her dress to scowl at him.

“Those are my people out there too,” she reminded him, lifting her chin in defiance. “You have no right to tell me to hide away when they need help.”

“And what of our child?”

Sansa let out a frustrated noise, turning her back to him so that she could continue lacing her dress without having to look at him. It was low of him to mention the babe she carried, as if her duties as Lady of Winterfell should be shoved to the side simply because she was with child. She heard his footsteps carry him away and the slam of the door behind him as he left, her eyes widening in disbelief that he’d leave without another word. Once she found her shoes and hurried out, Sansa snatched up his cloak and wrapped it around her without thinking about it overmuch.

It wasn’t quite as easy for her to race through the corridors. Sansa did her best to hurry and nearly stumbled right into Jon as she pushed through a door and into the courtyard. Suddenly, she realized exactly what gave him pause. Through the darkness, she could hear the telltale screech of a dragon. And there, coming through the gates, was a harried-looking Jorah Mormont, Daenerys cradled in his arms. Jon seemed frozen in place as they approached and Sansa stepped around him with ease, meeting Ser Jorah before he could make it to the keep.

Reaching up, she brushed the Dragon Queen’s hair away from her face and realized that she was unconscious. Her skin was cold to the touch and her body was shivering even as she was wrapped in what must have been Ser Jorah’s cloak. Missandei was nearby, her eyes wide with fear and alarm. Everyone’s eyes seemed drawn to her alone, as if she could solve the problem laid out before them in the form of a deeply chilled Targaryen. Sansa looked up into the knight’s eyes before stepping aside, nodding at him.

“Take her to her chambers,” she said quietly before turning to the nearest servant.

Missandei followed close behind him and Jon moved just in time to open the door, allowing Jorah to duck through. Sansa gestured for the servant to go straight to the kitchens, giving strict instructions for warm bath water and cloths to be taken to Daenerys’ chambers, as well as a bowl of hot stew. By the time she made it to the door of the chambers set aside for Daenerys, there was a flutter of activity inside. Sansa left Jon, Jorah, and Grey Worm in the outer chamber, stripping the cloak away and dropping it on a chair before hurrying into the bedchamber. Missandei was doing her best to undress a limp Daenerys on the bed, though frustration and terror had taken root deep within her.

“Here,” Sansa said, moving quickly to the bed.

Together, they managed to maneuver Daenerys’ arms out of her coat. Her eyes fluttered at the feeling of her chilled skin exposed to the air as they slowly peeled away the rest of her clothes, nonsense words slipping from her mouth.

“Worry not, Your Grace,” Sansa said, the words slipping out before she could think them through. “You’ll be alright.”

Between the two of them, they managed to pull a naked Daenerys to her feet and walk her slowly to the bath, urging her to step in and sit until she was submerged within the water. Her small figure was wracked with shivers, her eyes still hazy as she drew her knees to her chest.

“Fetch a maid to bring more wood for the fire,” Sansa instructed Missandei, casting her eyes to the barely stoked one within the hearth. “The room needs to be warmer.”

The other woman nodded, rising to her feet and nearly running from the room. Sansa moved behind Daenerys, her body going through the motions without the connection of her mind. In that moment, this wasn’t someone to be suspected or feared. She was simply a cold young woman who needed to be cared for. Sansa could compartmentalize the rest and focus on that alone. Daenerys’ braids were tangled and messy but she managed to undo them one by one, leaving her hair spilling out over the edge of the tub until Sansa used a jug to wet it with the warm water.

“Th-thank you.”

Sansa paused in her movements, wondering if she’d imagined it. But Daenerys tilted her head towards her, fixing that violet gaze upon her.

“Save your strength,” Sansa said quietly as Missandei came back into the room with a maidservant on her heels.

As the maid bent over the hearth, Missandei knelt beside Sansa and reached out to take Daenerys hand in her own. She spoke in quiet Valyrian, relief flaring in her eyes when Daenerys answered with a hoarse voice. Sansa didn’t even try to keep up with their rapid speech, rolling her sleeves up to grasp a cloth, using it to wash away the dirt on Daenerys’ face and skin. Missandei did the same, her voice a soothing presence even though Sansa couldn’t understand a word of what she spoke.

“They got caught in the darkness.”

It took Sansa a moment to realize that Missandei was talking to her now.

“It was hard to find their way back,” she continued.

Sansa glanced up to see Daenerys’ head resting against the lip of the tub. A part of her wanted to demand why Daenerys thought it was a good idea to fly off on her own regardless of what happened. Something far worse could have happened, not just to her but to the dragons that she had. The Night King possessing one of them was horrible enough. If he managed to get one or two more, there would be little chance of defeating him and his army. She bit at her cheek, keeping her words to herself.

“Where’s Jon?” Daenerys mumbled out.

Sansa’s blood ran cold at her question, her stomach twisting as if she might lose it right then and there.

“Outside of the room,” Missandei answered.

Pressing her lips together, Sansa rose to her feet as a kitchen girl walked through with a tray in her hands. Missandei finished washing her queen, speaking to her in low murmurs as Sansa dragged a chair before the fire. Only when Daenerys was dry and wrapped in the furs from her bed did she press the bowl into her hands, nodding at her to eat.

“It’ll warm you as well,” Sansa said encouragingly before turning away.

“Wait.”

She glanced at the Dragon Queen once more only to see that her eyes were clearer now. Daenerys nodded at her to sit in another chair and Sansa felt as if she couldn’t refuse. For a long few moments, all she could do was stare into the fire as the other woman sipped at her stew.

“We haven’t gotten along very well,” Daenerys said after a long few moments.

Sansa looked towards her, wondering why she felt the knee to state such a thing.

“I hope to change that,” Daenerys told her.

It was tempting to ask why but Sansa knew better than that.

“I am of little importance to you, Your Grace,” Sansa said.

Daenerys’ lips twisted into an almost smile.

“That’s far from the truth, Lady Sansa,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not only are you the Lady of Winterfell, but you are sister to the Warden of the North. A man who is of high importance to myself and to the realm.”

_Where’s Jon?_

A bitter taste formed in Sansa’s mouth as she wondered how long it would take Daenerys to request his presence once more.

“You love him,” Sansa said, her words more of a statement than a question.

Daenerys eyes flashed with something and she ducked her head, a bigger smile forming on her face. Sansa fought the urge to clench her hands into fists, keeping her face carefully devoid of emotion.

“I grew quite fond of him in the months he spent in my company,” she said, her voice taking on a certain fondness. “Your brother is quite unlike any man I’ve met.”

 _My husband,_ Sansa wanted to seethe. _He is my husband and your nephew. You will not have him._

Instead, she nodded her head in a show of silent agreement.

“Jon is rather singular,” Sansa admitted, her voice dull.

Daenerys gave her an odd look, almost condescending in its judgment of her. As if a line had been drawn at Sansa’s words, the queen gathered herself and lifted her chin proudly.

“Missandei tells me that the war council has already taken place,” Daenerys said, nodding at the woman in question. “I’d like to hear exactly what plans have been made.”

Sansa knew without asking that such information wouldn’t come from her own tongue. Once Missandei left the room, it didn’t take long for Jon, Jorah, and Grey Worm to follow her back through the door. Daenerys smiled at them all, though her attention seemed to favor Jon the most. Sansa felt the sick feeling in her stomach once more and resisted the urge to press her hand over the swell of her belly. It was already hard enough to keep Daenerys’ attention away from it and Sansa felt somewhat surprised that neither she nor Missandei had noticed since she wore no cloak.

“Your Grace,” Jorah said, bowing to her.

Jon and Grey Worm did the same but Sansa did not watch, staring off into the flames once more as the Dragon Queen assured them that she would be fine with a bit of rest. She seemed altogether pleased at the attention and when Sansa gave her a sidelong glance, she noted that her eyes were upon Jon alone. She hated how her heart wrenched at the sight. For all of Jon’s assurances, words that she believed even now, it was difficult to see another woman gaze so tenderly at the man that she loved with all of her heart.

Suddenly, she understood far more of her own mother’s plight than before. The mere thought of Jon with anyone else, much less Daenerys, made her want to scream. Sansa hated the dark feelings that stirred in her chest as she stood, offering Daenerys the smallest of curtsies as excuses rose to her lips. She was barely aware of what she said, only that it enabled her retreat. No one followed her, though a part of her was hardly surprised by it. Jon had a facade to keep to and she could not tear him away from him no matter how she felt in that moment.

Sansa’s eyes fell upon his cloak as her breath caught in her throat and she reached out to grasp it only for her fingers to brush over it. She stared and stared at it, tears pricking at her eyes as she heard their low murmurs behind her. After several long moments, Sansa withdrew her hand and wound her fingers into her skirts, leaving the cloak behind as her heart clenched painfully, a sob trapping in her throat as she hurried from the chambers, fully intending to throw herself into her duties to distract her mind from anything to do with Jon and Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> I gave y'all lots of fluff at the beginning because for the next few chapters, it's going to be angst city in a lot of different ways. Not just with regards to Daenerys and Jonsa but with plotty stuff too. We're creeping up on the Battle of Winterfell, which will hopefully exceed expectations because I have a lot planned for it. Theon is also showing back up soon, I promise. I didn't have him involved with the wedding for a reason.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all blow me away, truly. I love you all and I can't thank you enough for all the support you've given for this fic.
> 
> This is a bridge chapter to get us from one place to another. Mainly to transition into the battle. It isn't terribly exciting but there are some character interactions that I liked writing, so I hope that you all will like them as well.

The wind howled as she stood upon the battlements, whipping at her hair and stinging her cheeks. It was isolated where she stood, peering out at the darkness. A part of her preferred it, craving solitude as she closed her eyes against the thoughts that crowded her mind. She’d been wed for less than a full day and already wondered if it was the right thing to do. Would it put them in more danger when Daenerys inevitably discovered it? After the queen’s intimate confession, Sansa couldn’t help but dread whatever came after the war against the Night King and his army.

The point would come when she wouldn’t be able to hide the child that grew in her womb. Sansa knew Jon well enough. Putting aside Daenerys and the issues that arose with her presence, he wouldn’t stand aside and allow a single person to dismiss her as a slattern and their child a bastard. Not after how he was raised, hearing terrible whispers about himself and worse about his mother. If they revealed the truth, there was no telling how the North alone would react, much less the Dragon Queen herself.

They were on the edge of a cliff, so near to falling. Sansa’s hands curled into fists as she felt her stomach twist, the thought of losing anyone, much less her child or husband, nearly bringing up what meager food she managed to eat that day. The sound of the wind drowned out the footsteps that approached but Ghost quickly rose from where he lay at her feet, his red eyes peering through the darkness as he grew almost unsettlingly still. Sansa tilted her head towards the intruder as he stepped forward, the barest light of the moon allowing her to see his face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ser Jaime said, stomping his feet beneath his cloak with his one good hand tucked close to him.

Sansa turned her eyes away from him, reaching out her hand to scratch Ghost’s ears comfortingly. The last thing they needed was for Jaime to lose his other hand to the direwolf’s teeth. Reaching her other hand out, she marveled at the contrast between her pale, ungloved hand and the darkness beyond the walls.

“It’s getting colder,” Sansa said, just loud enough that he could hear.

“How in seven bloody hells can you tell?” the knight demanded.

She ignored his question, a feeling of horrid anticipation rising in her chest. Sansa was not Bran. She did not see what he did, nor could she predict what may come. Yet somehow she knew that the fight was near.

“Perhaps you should find yourself a warm hearth,” Sansa said, hearing Jaime’s low curses.

He didn’t move from his spot, though his teeth chattered and his body shivered without end.

“It’ll be quite difficult for me to swear my sword to you if you die of exposure.”

Sansa looked his way once more, her brow furrowing just slightly.

“You are rather determined, aren’t you?” she asked.

Jaime looked less than amused, with no smirk or clever remark at the ready. In fact, he looked altogether miserable. If it were anyone else, Sansa might have been tempted to relent simply to spare them the cold. Yet it was almost satisfying to see him quite this uncomfortable.

“There are several people in this castle who’d be all too glad to take my head if I walked by and spotted you up here without at least trying to make you see sense.”

Sansa pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, somehow knowing that his mind was on one of those people alone. Brienne would certainly take him to task if she found out that he didn’t at least try to protect Sansa from her own actions.

“Very well,” she relented, stepping away from the wall and gathering her skirts in her hands. “Though I must admit that it is all too amusing to watch as you dance about like a child.”

“I will reenact it for anyone of your choosing so long as we retreat to a room warmed by a hearth,” Jaime offered, trailing behind her as she descended the steps with Ghost leading the way. “I don’t know how you northerners bear it.”

“Your complaining is rather undignified, Ser Jaime.”

“Yes well, the last thing I expect to retain in your frozen lands is my dignity,” he said, his words easier to hear as they reached the courtyard. “Though your brother certainly taught me a lesson or two about pride and humility.”

Sansa’s stomach swooped uncomfortably as she remembered who she walked beside. If anyone could figure out the true nature of her connection to Jon, it was this man. Though their circumstances were all too different, it wouldn’t seem so from his eyes. Not unless he knew the absolute truth, and given his past loyalty to Cersei, Sansa didn’t trust him with that quite yet.

“Jon?” she said, trying to sound as aloof as possible. 

“The other,” Jaime said.

It took her a long few moments to realize that he spoke of Robb. She drew up short of the Great Keep, her heart quickening as she fought to keep a composed look about herself. Yet she failed, tears stinging at her eyes quite suddenly as she inhaled a gasping breath. Jaime realized his mistake all too quickly, regret crossing his face.

“He deserved to be here,” Sansa said, looking him full in the face.

She silently dared him to deny it, to tell her that Robb deserved to die. It mattered little what mistakes he made. His heart was good. His intentions were honorable. He deserved to live as much as the rest of them.

“You can say the same for many,” Jaime said carefully.

Sansa lifted her hand, using the sleeve of her gown to dry her tears as Ghost nudged her hip with his nose.

“Why are we the ones who live?” she asked, tilting her head down to scratch at Ghost’s ears.

“Believe me, Lady Stark,” Jaime said, a reluctant acceptance in his voice. “You will never stop asking yourself that question.”

Sansa let out a soft sob before shaking her head and inhaling deeply in an effort to calm herself. There would be time for tears later. For now, there was far too much to be done.

“Have you renamed your sword yet?” she asked, continuing on towards the keep.

Jaime hesitated for a moment before following her once more. Ghost didn’t do the same, disappearing off towards the godswood.

“Not quite yet,” he admitted, surging ahead to open the door for her. “I must admit that my imagination is limited. Perhaps I should call upon my brother’s clever mind to help.”

Sansa considered it as she stepped inside, the warmth of the Great Hall surrounding her. Pausing just inside, she turned back to face him a memory occurred to her, of Brienne telling her how Jaime saved King’s Landing all those years ago. Had he wanted to kill Aerys or was it simply necessary?

_ It’s not what I want. It’s what honor demands. _

Had Jaime wanted to kill the Mad King? To betray his vows and break his oaths at such a young age? Had it simply been what honor demanded? Was Brienne true to her word, that he was an honorable man? Time could only tell.

“Honor,” she said thoughtfully, lifting her damp skirts as she made her way across the hall. “My mother must have believed in yours, to release you in the hopes that you would return her daughters to her. Brienne has faith in your honor as well.”

Jaime didn’t say anything and Sansa couldn’t see him without peering over her shoulder and running the risk of bumping headlong into someone.

“It’s not quite as sensational or powerful a name as others,” she admitted.

“I quite like it,” Jaime said finally.

Sansa blinked with surprise, wondering if he was simply teasing her.

“Your father would have the last laugh about it, though,” he said, continuing on. “How I taunted the man for his honor.”

“Then perhaps this can remind you to keep ahold of your own,” Sansa said, pausing to turn towards him. “Even after this war is won.”

Jaime stared at her, a look of indecision crossing his face. She couldn’t imagine that it would be easy, choosing which sign to align with. His sister and lover on one side, his beloved brother on the other.

“You would have me fight for Daenerys after all that she has done?”

Sansa considered his words for a moment before the smallest of smiles pulled at her lips.

“I did not say that,” she said, her voice so quiet that only he could hear.

Jaime didn’t stir when she turned away, leaving him to contemplate the mystery of her words. Movement at her side alerted her to Arya’s presence and she nodded in acknowledgment before starting her rounds about the room, checking in on the elderly and infirm before crouching in front of a group of orphaned children, reading the fear in their eyes even in the dim flickering light from the braziers set about the room. Samwell’s wildling woman sat with them, her son balanced on her knee as she eyed Sansa with wary interest. Reaching out, Sansa grasped each of their hands, assuring them that the long night would end when the brave soldiers marched out to defeat the coming army.

“I want to fight,” a little girl with a scar upon her cheek spoke up, her voice little yet filled with strength. “My brother is going to fight but they say I’m too young.”

Her frustration was endearing, bringing a smile to Sansa’s face.

“You’ll have to protect us here in the hall when the fighting begins, Cerra,” Gilly said, reaching out to brush the girl’s hair away from her face. “We’ll need brave folk in here too.”

“She’s right,” Sansa said, nodding towards Gilly.

The girl nodded her head reluctantly though the crease between her little eyebrows smoothed out at the assurance. From the corner of her eye, Sansa watched as Arya took one knee next to her. Many of the children, specifically the girls, looked at her with awe.

“When the fighting’s done, I’ll train you myself,” she offered, her eyes fixed upon Cerra. “You have my word.”

“I want to learn as well!”

“Me too!”

The air filled with the sounds of children scrambling to speak, hoping that Arya might train them all.

“I suppose there’s no need to appoint a master-at-arms,” Sansa said with a half-smile, nudging Arya’s side. “They’ve made the choice for me.”

A look of surprise flitted through Arya’s eyes followed quickly by the smallest spark of hope. She offered Sansa a hand, tugging her to her feet since she knew it was more of a trial for Sansa to move about freely these days.

“If we make it through the night,” Arya said softly.

Sansa grasped her hand tighter, staring into her eyes.

“We will,” she said, her voice ringing with a desperate need. “I must believe that.”

Though Arya looked as if she might contradict her words, her lips pressed closed and she gave a single nod of her head.

“Jon’s been looking for you,” she said, guiding Sansa away from the children.

A soft sigh slipped from her lips and Arya’s sharp ears caught onto it all too easily.

“What’s he done?”

“Nothing,” Sansa said with a shake of her head. “I’m surprised he has time to seek me out with the Dragon Queen demanding his near-constant presence.”

Though she’d stirred from her sleep as the mattress dipped with his weight, she woke to a cold bed and knew where he must be without needing to ask. It wasn’t entirely fair of her, to avoid him ever since Daenerys returned, but she couldn’t bear to see him at her side.

_ I feared that she had you in her grasp. That she sought to take you and the North both. _

_ She would if I let her. _

Would Jon let her? To save the North? To save her? The Tarlys came to mind, burned for refusing to bend the knee. Could Sansa take a different path? If Daenerys threatened Jon or Arya or the people of the North? Could she swear her allegiance as Jon had done? She feared the answer to each of the questions and found it easier to shove it all aside, choosing to think of other things. Yet she could not avoid Jon forever. Nor did she want to.

“A part of me wishes he never brought her here,” Arya said quietly, her eyes darting this way and that as they made their way from the Great Hall. “He never should have left at all.”

Sansa hummed in agreement, fighting the urge to press her hand over her midsection.

“I’ll seek him out later,” she said, making her way towards the kitchens. “I must check on our stores.”

Arya didn’t make any move to leave her, shadowing her every step as she made her way along the corridor. Sansa had to wonder if those closest to her had agreed not to leave her alone now that the Dragon Queen was back. It would hardly surprise her, if true. No one was safe with Daenerys and her dragons around once more.

*****

“I wonder what it would be like,” Sansa said thoughtfully, her eyes distant as the stew in her belly warmed her. “If the others were here for this. Father and Mother and Robb. Even Rickon.”

She didn’t see the guilt flit through Theon’s eyes as he bowed his head yet she knew it was there all the same.

“Everything would be different,” he said quietly.

Sansa set her bowl upon her lap, looking out over the courtyard. The stir of people, each as different as the last, was a curious sight. Her father can’t have imagined anything like this as he lived. Not only that wildings would reside comfortably within Winterfell’s walls, but that they would host such a large company from Essos and not one but two Lannisters without a blink of an eye, much less a Targaryen queen. Considering the child in her belly, a piece of her and Jon that she already loved so fiercely, and the man that she’d bound herself to, Sansa had to wonder if she’d change anything, knowing that she could lose it all if she did. It was an impossible thought.

“They would be proud of you.”

Theon’s eyes lifted to hers, doubt in his gaze as he shook his head lightly, unable to believe it.

“They would,” Sansa pressed, confidence ringing in her voice. “Look at all that you’ve done to redeem your mistakes. Helping me and saving your sister and vowing to protect Bran.”

“It’s you they’d be proud of,” Theon said, though there was a spark of hope in his eyes. “And Jon.”

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat, regret filling her chest that she hadn’t told him everything before now. She was so used to being unable to trust and a part of her didn’t want to put Theon in danger by telling him the truth. Yet he was as much a part of her family as anyone and he deserved to know.

“Theon,” she said carefully, leaning forward. “There is something that you must know. Many things, in truth.”

He tilted his head to the side curiously, clearing wondering what could make her speak so gravely. Yet before she could speak a word of the truth, the loud blast of a horn filled the air. Everything seemed to grow still in the wake of the sound. Not even the children dared speak where they sat. Everyone waited with bated breath, knowing what this likely meant. A second horn blast quickly followed the first and her eyes grew wide as she remembered the way of the Night’s Watch that Jon had told her about so long ago.

_ One blast is for returning rangers. Two blasts is for wildlings. _

The few moments that passed in the wake of the second blast seemed to last an eternity. Sansa couldn’t even breathe, her eyes fixed forward unseeingly as panic clouded her mind. She wasn’t ready. She would never be ready. It couldn’t be time. Not when so many could die. There had to be a few days yet, if only to give them more time to prepare. If only to let her shield her heart against what may happen. A third and final blast shattered the air and tore her from her thoughts.

_ Three blasts for White Walkers. _

Sansa rose to her feet at once as chaos broke out over the yard, her bowl and spoon clattering to the ground a hundred thoughts flitted through her mind all at once. They weren’t prepared enough. She wasn’t ready. What if their plan did not work? How could she have wasted the hours avoiding Jon out of discomfort when this may be the last that they had? How could she be so foolish? Where was Arya? Bran? Brienne? How many people would they lose? Why did the Others have to come now? Why did they have to come at all? Why did she have to suffer the possibility of losing all those she loved when she just got them back? She swayed on the spot as tears strung at her eyes, seeing the blurred shape of Theon reaching out to steady her.

Throwing herself against him, Sansa buried her face in his shoulder as the tears slipped down her cheeks endlessly. No, she wasn’t ready. Even as Theon gathered her in his arms and held her as close as possibly, pressing his face into her hair and breathing her in, Sanas knew that she would never be ready to release him. Then he stiffened against her as if something occurred to him and her body cried out in protest as he drew away, his eyes darting down to her stomach.

Sansa’s heart flipped in her chest as she realized he must have felt the swell of her stomach pressed against him as they embraced. He’d discovered what she did her best to hide beneath consciously laced dresses and loose cloaks, his lips parting in shock as he looked up at her once more with a pale face, a thousand questions in his eyes. Sansa lifted her hands to his cheeks, framing his face in her soft touch as she shook her head, sniffling in vain as if the tears would disappear if she wished enough.

“I will tell you everything when it’s all over, when you return,” Sansa promised, praying to the gods that they did not make her break such a vow. “There isn’t enough time to say it all now, but…”

She trailed off, a shudder running through her as she leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead.

“Look after yourself,” she whispered, pulling away from him. “And take care of Bran, please.”

Theon nodded, determination taking root in his eyes.

“I will,” he vowed solemnly.

Sansa managed a tremulous smile before she moved around him, desperation quickening her steps as she pulled at her skirts so that she could dart towards the keep.

“Sansa!”

Her head snapped towards Arya, who must have run from the forge judging by her harried appearance. Gendry wasn’t far behind her, alarm in his eyes as he stared out towards the walls.

“Where’s Jon?’ Sansa said, reaching out to grasp at her sister.

“He was on the battlements with Sam and Edd, last I saw,” Arya said breathlessly.

Sansa began to turn but Gendry spoke up, stopping her in place.

“He’d have gone in to armor himself,” he said.

She felt a tug of relief and turned back to Arya.

“I’ll see you on the ramparts,” Sansa said, squeezing her arm lightly.

Arya nodded, shifting in place as she cast a look towards her lover. In a moment of carelessness, Sansa slipped past her and tossed her arms about the blacksmith’s shoulders, nearly laughing at how he froze in her embrace.

“Keep yourself alive,” she whispered in his ear, so that only he could hear. “She can’t bear to lose anyone else.”

Pulling away from him, Sansa gave him as stern a look as she could muster and waited for his responding nod, stunned as he was, before moving away. Arya gave her an odd look but she merely gave her a single nod before continuing on towards the keep. People bustled about, gathering supplies and such as they made their way to where they were meant to be. Sansa dodged each and every one of them, even those who tried to stop her, as she wound her way up to Jon’s chambers.

The door was wide open, allowing her an easy entry to his outer chamber. He was nowhere to be seen in the dim light from the hearth and there was nothing but darkness from the next room. Sansa felt a sob rise in her throat. Would she see him before the battle? Had the Dragon Queen taken it upon herself to steal whatever time she may have had left with him? Her legs weakened, nearly bringing her to the floor before she heard a rustle and sigh from his bedchamber. Her heart leapt in her chest as she surged forward, calling out his name desperately.

He was halfway to the door when she staggered through, a shadow in the moonlight that filtered through his window, yet her Jon all the same. Sansa all but threw herself at him, his arms grasping her close as she clutched at him. They said nothing at all as the moments passed, their bodies pressed so close together that none would tell them apart in such a dark space. Sansa’s whimper as he pulled away was quickly muffled by the kiss he pressed to her lips. It wasn’t a gentle kiss like those they’d shared before, but rather desperate and unrelenting.

Her fingers wound into his hair, her body coming alive at the feeling of his hands upon her hips and spanning over her back, pulling her ever closer. Sansa wished they had more time. She would take him to bed and worship every inch of him, letting him know how much she loved him. And he would do the same in return, of that she had no doubt. They’d spend hours merely exploring, ensuring that every single piece of one another was committed to memory. If they had more time.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered, shame filling her as she pulled away from him. “I’m so sorry I was such a fool. I feared what Daenerys might do, what her return might mean. I let my absurd worries steal away what time we had left. Gods, Jon, I’m so sorry.”

Jon hushed her quietly, framing her face gently in his hands.

“Hold onto your hope,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes.

Sansa’s lower lip trembled as she nodded, trying to breathe through the panic that clawed at her chest.

“I cannot lose you,” she whispered.

Jon wiped her tears away gently before brushing another kiss over her lips.

“I don’t know how much time we have,” he whispered, laying his forehead against hers.

A fresh wave of tears stung at her eyes but Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to let them fall.

“Our people need us,” she said quietly, steeling herself for whatever may come. “Just… don’t leave me yet.”

Jon didn’t deny her, slipping his hand into hers.

“Not yet,” he agreed.

They didn’t part as they made their way to the courtyard, a slow reluctance in their steps. Everything was as chaotic as she expected it to be, with soldiers rushing this way and that as they grabbed weapons and took position wherever they were required. As they hovered just outside the iron gates of the godswood, Jon wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her in for another firm hug, turning his face into her hair as she embraced him in return. 

“Get in position!” someone shouted distantly.

“Archers at the ready!”

Sansa pulled away with a quiet gasp, a painful ache passing through her at the thought of letting him go. His lips found her forehead and pressed a lingering kiss there as she relaxed into him.

“I love you,” Jon whispered, his words for her ears only.

“As I love you,” Sansa murmured in return.

He pulled away from her after a long moment of tender silence between them, meeting her gaze before squeezing her hand and stepping away. Sansa watched him go until he disappeared amidst the dark trees, feeling her heart crack beneath the weight of her emotions. Only then she did turn away, ignoring how her stomach twisted as she ascended the steps to the ramparts. Arya didn’t say a word as she joined her side, her hands tightly clasped before her to keep from showing how they trembled.

“I see nothing,” Sansa said, peering out past the armies and the trench at the darkness beyond.

“They’re there,” her sister said, confidence ringing in her unshaken voice.

A moment passed before Sansa slowly unclasped her hands, reaching out to take hold of Arya’s as she spoke quietly, her words meant for the wind.

“Let it begin, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Next up, the Battle for the Living. It's going to be a lot and (hopefully) better than the show. I put a lot of thought into it so I hope it's good for all of you.
> 
> Since June is my birthday month, I'm doing a celebration all month to give back to my wonderful readers. Take a peek at the post about it [here](https://snowsinthenorth.tumblr.com/post/185271972000/ive-been-thinking-about-what-i-want-to-do-for-my) if you want to get involved


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